


Life Begins With Coffee (and Cake)

by vix_spes



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Awkward Flirting, Bisexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion Friendship, Emotionally constipated witchers, F/F, Family Feels, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Getting Together, Humor, Injury Recovery, Insecure Eskel (The Witcher), M/M, Musician Jaskier | Dandelion, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Secret Relationship, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Therapy Pets, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 106,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25535845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: Café Wanderlust.For Jaskier, it was his dream. A place he could be entirely himself, without judgement.For Eskel and Geralt, it was the chance to explore and acknowledge something they had never truly allowed themselves to before.For all of them, it was the start of something wonderful.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg - Relationship, Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 416
Kudos: 442
Collections: The Modern Witcher AU Collection





	1. Welcome to Cafe Wanderlust

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will be weekly on Fridays. The biggest of thanks to Nia_Kantorka for hand holding, WhatFishie for editing this chapter and cydonianlady for cheerleading <3

Jaskier couldn’t help but feel excited as he surveyed the space that he stood in. The building that was now his. Well, his in as much as he was the leaseholder rather than the freeholder. Damn English property law. There was so much potential there, just waiting to be unleashed. At the moment, it was nothing more than an empty cavern; a large open front space and then a spacious kitchen with a storeroom and another area out the back. Plenty of space for what Jaskier had planned and he had big plans. Yes, there was an awful lot of work to do – an almost overwhelming amount – but Jaskier wasn’t afraid of a challenge or hard work, regardless of what his father might say. After all, it was challenging his father that led to Jaskier standing here today.

Jaskier wasn’t always known as Jaskier. That was the name that he had chosen for himself, the name he identified with.

Officially, he was Lord Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove. Eldest son and heir of the Earl of Lettenhove. Not that the title mattered to anyone other than Jaskier’s father. It wasn’t as though it was anything other than a title these days. Well, that and the estate where Jaskier had grown up until he was packed off to boarding school like his father, his grandfather and his great-grandfather etcetera etcetera. All of that nauseating family tradition bollocks.

Jaskier had done well in school, just not necessarily in the subjects that his father had wanted him to. He had been drawn to – and excelled in – English, music, drama and art whilst being an absolute disaster on the rugby pitch. He was good at making connections, but not ones that his father deemed suitable – or useful. His cousin Ferrant, on the other hand, was the opposite. Jaskier liked the guy well enough but they were completely different. Ferrant liked the subjects that Jaskier found dull, was the star winger for the rugby team and had absolutely no problem toadying up to and making friends with ‘the right sort of people’. Every holiday seemed to consist of the Earl detailing which families Ferrant was visiting and ‘why couldn’t Jaskier be more like his cousin?’ More than once, Jaskier had bit his tongue to prevent himself from asking his father why he didn’t just make Ferrant his heir, since it would obviously make him happier. 

By the time he was eighteen, Jaskier and the Earl barely spoke and Jaskier had two great loves; music and baking. The former was thanks to his mother, the latter due to many hours as a child spent in the kitchen pestering the staff. His father disapproved of both and refused to finance further studies in either subject. Apparently neither was a suitable career for a Viscount. If Jaskier wanted his university career financed by his father, then he would have to follow his Earl’s plans for him. That meant a degree in business or some other “useful” subject followed by a career in the City that, quite frankly, was the last thing Jaskier wanted. He’d be clawing his face off in hours and doing something incredibly stupid to divert himself from the tedium and escape.

No, city life was not for him. He wasn’t interested in making money for the sake of it or being an anonymous face in a designer suit. He wanted to do something that he was passionate about, something that he loved doing.

In the end, what he had settled for was double-crossing his father in order to get the higher education that he wanted. Jaskier had told his father that he was applying for a course the Earl approved of, whilst surreptitiously applying for a different course. Instead of applying for a pure business course, he applied for – and was accepted on – a BA in Music with Enterprise. When it came to his choice of university, Jaskier’s father was unimpressed that it wasn’t Oxbridge (Ferrant, the suck-up, had chosen PPE at Cambridge) but he couldn’t dispute the global rankings that Jaskier had presented him with and agreed to pay the fees.

University had been everything that Jaskier had hoped it would be. Everything that he had wanted and he had taken to the lifestyle with alacrity. University was where Jaskier had been born. He had found his people. And his rival.

The latter, Jaskier had the misfortune to live with as a fresher in halls. Generally, university halls were a mixture of first year undergraduates from a multitude of courses, thrown together and expected not to kill each other during the course of the year. Jaskier’s mother had pushed for a new residence, one of the new builds that had en-suite facilities as well as being closer to the city centre. However, Jaskier had pushed for - and received a place in - Devonshire Hall which was self-catered so he could cook when he wanted, had an en-suite bathroom and also had practice rooms on site. The only downside was that you couldn’t choose who was on your floor and Jaskier had the misfortune of being lumbered with several Neanderthals who were of the impression that being queer was something to be ashamed of. Jaskier swiftly disabused them of that opinion but it definitely made for a frosty atmosphere. At least none of them were on Jaskier’s course, because being on the same course and living in the same halls as Valdo Marx was enough to deal with.

Jaskier may have had that misfortune – and the less said about Valdo the better - but he had the good fortune to be on the same course as one Essi Daven.

Essi was a queen.

The two of them had met on a Fresher’s evening out and Jaskier knew that was it. Platonic soulmates for life. Okay, maybe he was a little in love - lust - with Essi at first but, well, he wasn’t going to ruin things between them. He hadn’t had this kind of connection before, someone who just understood him and what he wanted, someone he worked so well with.

Over the three years of his degree, Jaskier learnt many things. He studied how to start your own business as well as innovation and creativity in business. He specialised in performance and composition. He learned how to market himself and said business. His dissertation was written on medieval bards and their relevance to today’s music.

The partnership between Jaskier and Essi was almost as formidable as the rivalry between Jaskier and Valdo. In addition to building a writing/performing duo that gained them top marks from all of their professors, Essi and Jaskier had been flatmates during their second and third years. Their grotty little student flat was so much better than living in halls. The worst thing about halls, as far as Jaskier was concerned, was that none of his flatmates had the same interest in cooking as Jaskier did. Their idea of cooking was making a pasta dish and then leaving it to fester until it became a biohazard. That was not something that Jaskier was okay with. Once he moved in with Essi, Jaskier revelled in the fact that he had a kitchen all to himself. Pot noodles were verboten in their flat. Everyone ate what Jaskier made with relish and he didn’t make the usual student fare. Whenever they returned from the club scene, there were always baked goods waiting to satiate their hangovers. No dodgy 3am kebabs for them. Clubbing and cake was very much their thing, sometimes with added cock if one or both of them pulled.

It was in his third year that Jaskier started to rethink his future. Once upon a time, he had fantasised about being a singer idolised the world over. The idea was still tempting. However, what his degree had taught him was that the music industry was fickle and Jaskier was very aware that he was an acquired taste. He wasn’t entirely sure that the world was ready for his twist on contemporary music, performed on the medieval instruments he studied. However, while Valdo might be willing to mould himself into whatever the industry required of him, Jaskier was determined to march to his own beat. 

Given that he was studying enterprise and business alongside his music, Jaskier toyed with the idea of starting his own business. He knew that his baking was good - plenty of people had told him that it was good enough to sell - and, whilst starting up a business was always going to be risky, it was potentially less risky than the music industry. There was also no reason why Jaskier had to give up his music making. He could continue writing songs and record when he could alongside the business. And, while the Earl may not approve, Jaskier had financial backing already thanks to a trust fund on his mother’s side of the family that he would be able to access upon graduation.

So, while Jaskier continued to perform and compose as was expected of him, he also focused the business/enterprise side of his degree on the possibility of opening a cafe once he graduated. One where he could sell his cakes and play his music. A place where he controlled his life and he had the perfect balance of his two great loves.

It hadn’t been easy keeping up his deception for three years, but his father’s apathy had turned out to be beneficial, and it had been particularly gratifying on graduation day. In fact, it had been positively glorious. Jaskier had watched with glee as his father became more and more confused when the recipients of the various School of Business degrees were called with Jaskier’s name not among them. That glee had only grown as the degrees awarded through the School of Music started to be announced and the Earl’s confusion turned to apoplexy even before Jaskier’s name was called as having graduated with a first in Music with Enterprise.

The public setting ensured that the Earl didn’t lose his composure; it wasn’t the done thing for a member of the nobility. Instead, he simply glowered while Jaskier posed for his graduation photos; those with his entire graduating class, with Essi and with his mother. That being said, Jaskier knew that his father was never going to be happy with what Jaskier had decided to do for his career and he’d made his peace with that.

Indeed, it was all very well that Jaskier’s mother also came from money and that her family didn’t quite have the same opinions on what was ‘the done thing’. Quite the contrary, she approved of Jaskier’s plans. His trust fund from his maternal grandfather would make all Jaskier’s dreams happen with his mother’s blessing, whether his father approved or not.

(~*~)

It took Jaskier time to find the perfect space for his business venture.

He may have the money to start up, but Jaskier didn’t want to be able to buy somewhere only for it to crash and burn because he had picked the wrong place and he couldn’t make a profit. He hadn’t gained a first for nothing. He needed somewhere that didn’t already have an abundance of coffee-shops and cafes - a rather tall order - and somewhere that had a healthy footfall of people who would be likely to spend money on coffee and cake.

He looked at close to fifty properties before he settled upon one. He walked in and just knew, instinctively, this was it.

The space that Jaskier had leased was in a reasonably nice pedestrian area with a selection of well-kept shops covering a variety of interests. It had a good footfall with a variety of age groups and interests, which hopefully boded well for Jaskier’s own enterprise.

At the end of the road was a nightclub called Cintra, that looked a hell of a lot better than some of the sleazy joints Jaskier had visited during his undergrad and he made a point to visit as soon as he could. Then again, given that he was starting his own business and he was currently the sole employee, clubbing, cake and cock - his university fallback - wasn’t going to happen for a while. At least not until he got things off the ground and the business was running. Maybe until he’d found an assistant as well.

Blaviken was an oddity. Apparently it was a magic shop that dealt in illusions but, well, if Jaskier was being honest, he didn’t know how they managed to stay open. The guy who owned it - Stregobor - was creepy as hell and when he had stopped Jaskier in the street to introduce himself, Jaskier couldn’t get away quick enough. In all the time since Jaskier had signed the lease, he didn’t think that he’d seen anybody actually entering the building other than the owner. Jaskier hoped to do a bit better than that.

Griffin Books was catty corner to Jaskier’s building. Jaskier hadn’t met the owner yet but, if it was who Jaskier thought it was, then he looked more like a prop forward than the owner of a bookstore. He dressed in three piece suits and had a bushy beard that was clearly well looked after. His shop seemed popular enough, though. There was a steady stream of university students - or what Jaskier assumed to be students - going in through the doors and he hoped, once he opened, that he would be able to convince them over to his shop. Jaskier didn’t think it would be too complicated; after all, every single student liked cake and the majority of them existed on coffee.

And then there was Aretuza. 

The facade was black with deep gold lettering and blacked out windows. There was nothing in the windows except for a small card detailing their opening hours. If Jaskier was being honest, he hadn’t quite worked out whether it was a very high-end beauty salon or if it was a discreet sex shop. He certainly couldn’t figure it out from the clientele. There seemed to be just as many men as women going through the doors and, well, while Jaskier was comfortable with his sexuality, he knew that many men weren’t. So, either Aretuza was a beauty salon that attracted male customers, or it was a sex shop. The darkened windows with beautiful designs in gold accented lilac certainly didn’t give any clues. There could be anything going on behind those doors.

To be truthful, Jaskier was a little scared to find out what kind of business it was, especially considering the women that seemed to run the business. There were three of them and two of them were undoubtedly terrifying. Jaskier hadn’t even spoken to them and, to be perfectly honest, he was a little afraid to. The third woman definitely looked less scary and much friendlier but, as of yet, Jaskier hadn’t had the opportunity to meet any of his fellow business owners except for Stregobor and he wasn’t in a hurry to repeat that encounter.

Hopefully meeting the others would happen sooner rather than later.

All of the shops were clearly well cared for with the exception of one.

Kaer Morhen.

It was the building opposite Jaskier’s and, compared to all of the others - to Aretuza, Cintra and Griffin Books, even to Blaviken - it was rundown and slightly dingy-looking. It was a gym. At least, Jaskier thought it was a gym. It was rather hard to tell given that it had the same blacked out windows as Aretuza. Then again, its clientele was easier to gauge given that they all seemed to be muscle-heads of varying ages which certainly seemed to point to the building being a gym. Jaskier was sure that he had even seen the owner of Griffin Books heading in a few times a week. The only oddity was a teenager with white-blonde hair but maybe she was the daughter of the owner; it wasn’t as though Jaskier was going to get close enough to find out.

Jaskier didn’t tend to frequent gyms; getting all hot and sweaty in a gym was not his idea of fun and it wasn’t something that he found to be necessary for him to enjoy life. He liked cake - baking it and eating it - and anyone who criticised his body could fuck right off. If he wanted to get some exercise, then that was what sex and dancing were for and Jaskier was very good at both of them.

With that in mind, he was more than happy for Kaer Morhen to remain a mystery for the time being.

~*~

Jaskier was almost ready to open – a mere two days away – when there was an impatient banging on the front door. He wasn’t expecting any deliveries and was trying to get a head-start on whatever prep he could do prior to opening. As such, he wasn’t exactly at his best; he’d been bopping around his kitchen singing and getting a little covered in flour and various other ingredients. Jaskier made a half-hearted attempt to swipe away the flour on his cheek as he approached the door but, in all reality, only made it worse. On the other side of the door was a pretty dark-haired woman with a friendly smile who Jaskier was sure he’d seen in the local area. In fact, he was pretty sure that she was one of the employees of Aretuza. He opened the door, fumbling with the lock slightly, before he managed to open it.

“Can I help you?”

“I know you’re not officially open yet but please, for the love of god, tell me that your coffee machines are hooked up and working. It’s an emergency.”

“It may be my first shop but I’m not an amateur. The coffee machines were the first thing we fixed up. Come on in, I’ll get you hooked up.”

“You’re an angel.”

“I’m Jaskier.”

“Triss. Triss Merigold.”

“Welcome to Café Wanderlust, Triss.”

As Jaskier fired up the machines, Triss wandered around the space and Jaskier found himself on tenterhooks, waiting for her opinion. He’d decorated according to his tastes which, according to Essi, were somewhat acquired. Looking around now, trying to see it through someone else’s eyes, he wondered if it was too much. The mural of a coastline on one wall, the painting of a pair of red welly boots by the toilet and the neon writing behind the counter that read ‘touch, pause, engage’ in a beautiful lilac when lit up. Jaskier found himself all but holding his breath as Triss bounded over to the counter just in time for the coffee to be poured.

“Milk? Sugar? Syrup?”

“Milk and two sugars. Caramel syrup as well if you have it.”

“Sweet tooth?”

Triss grinned, “the sweetest.”

Jaskier poured and doctored the coffee, sliding it across the counter along with a slice of his salted caramel, chocolate and raspberry cake. He then proceeded to wait with baited breath. This wasn’t his mum or Essi or one of his housemates. This was someone who could potentially become a paying customer, someone who could recommend his business to other potential customers. Triss’ opinion would be a great way to gauge his reception when he opened in a couple of days.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Triss moaned loudly, “oh my god, this is almost as good as sex.”

Jaskier adopted an offended pose, “excuse you, this is far better than some of the sex I’ve had.”

Triss took another mouthful and reconsidered, “yeah, fair point. It’s probably better than most of the sex I’ve had. I hope you’re ready because if the rest of your cakes are as good as this, you’re going to be rushed off your feet.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Triss took several more huge bites of cake and chased it with some coffee. “We’ve been desperate for something like this around here. This place has been empty for a year, easily. I like what you’ve done with the place as well, it’s quirky. Fun.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief, “I was afraid it would be a bit too much. You work down the road, don’t you?”

“Yes, at Aretuza. Tissaia and my girlfriend Yennefer own it, I’m the manager there.”

Tissaia and Yennefer. Jaskier memorised the names. They were obviously the two terrifying ones. He couldn’t quite imagine sweet Triss dating either of them and he wondered which one was the girlfriend; the brunette with the killer bone structure or the woman with black hair and purple eyes that couldn’t be natural. But, this was the opportunity that he had been waiting for.

“So, Aretuza? What kind of business is that?”

Triss gave a wicked smirk that belied her sweet appearance, “what kind of business do you think it is?”

“I couldn’t decide between a beauty salon or a sex shop.”

The peal of laughter that rang out was loud and infectious. “A sex shop? If only. Actually, I think we’d probably do a roaring trade around here if we were a sex shop but no, we’re a beauty salon. Just one that does some treatments you wouldn’t get in your usual salon.”

“Such as?”

“Well, there’s a few but the ones that always freak people out are the facials.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Bee venom, sheep placenta and blood.”

Jaskier shuddered as he poured himself a coffee, “people actually get that shit injected into their face?”

“You’d be surprised. Some of the other business owners around here are regulars; maybe you’ll end up one as well.”

“Hmm, we’ll see.” Jaskier did his best to remain noncommittal, “speaking of the other business owners, what can you tell me? I’ve only met you and the owner of Blaviken so far.”

Triss pulled a face, “Stregobor. Yeah, avoid at all costs. Something happened between him and his former assistant - Renfri, I think her name was - and he’s been even weirder since then. Ermion is the owner of Cintra, but everyone knows him as Mousesack for some reason. They’re very queer friendly, good music and reasonably cheap drinks. Coën’s a sweetheart, like a big teddy bear; he owns Griffin Books. There’s us at Aretuza, of course. Oh! And then there’s Vesemir who owns Kaer Morhen.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen him before. What is Kaer Morhen? It’s almost as mysterious as Aretuza.”

“It’s a gym. Vesemir set it up when he left the army so it’s mostly ex-forces and members of the emergency services that use it. Quite a few of the guys who use it didn’t return home unscathed so it’s blacked out to make them feel more comfortable while they work out. There are a couple of exceptions like Coën and his friend, the hot professor, but not many. It’s not quite up-to-date enough to appeal to other people. Plus, Vesemir tends to keep to himself. He has three foster sons but they’re all still serving, I think. He lives with his granddaughter, Ciri. She’s a firecracker; you’ll love her.”

“I’m sure I will. Do you want anything for the road?” Jaskier nodded to where Triss had polished off both her coffee and the cake.

“Two black coffees if you don’t mind. One with a hint of milk. Hopefully Tissaia and Yennefer have struck a ceasefire by now. I love them dearly - and they love each other - but they have strong personalities and don’t always see eye to eye.”

Jaskier nodded as he poured the coffee and, on impulse, boxed up two of his coffee and chocolate cupcakes made with the darkest chocolate and iced with strong coffee buttercream. He slid the box and the coffee carrier across the counter, “to help broker the peace deal.”

He couldn’t help but smile as Triss used the counter to boost herself up so that she could press a kiss to his cheek. “You and I are going to be great friends, Jaskier. I’ll be in on opening day and then afterwards we’ll celebrate.”

~*~

By the time the day of Cafe Wanderlust’s opening arrived, Jaskier had had more than one minor - and not so minor - meltdown that had involved him standing in the kitchen and howling “Fuuuuuuuuuck” very loudly surrounded by - and covered in - an assortment of ingredients. He had known that opening his own cafe - and baking/cooking all of the goods in said cafe - with himself as the sole employee was going to be brutal, but he hadn’t quite expected just how brutal it would be. He had probably been averaging no more than four hours sleep a night for the last week and his fridges and freezers were full to bursting with the amount of prep he had done.

Jaskier wasn’t really sure what he was expecting; no customers at all or being completely overwhelmed. He was hoping for something in the middle. Triss certainly seemed to think that Wanderlust was going to be a great success. The redhead had been a daily fixture at the cafe since her caffeine emergency, even if it was just to check in and make sure that Jaskier was okay and still alive. She also admitted that she’d been talking up Jaskier’s business to all of her own customers and that she and Yennefer would definitely be there on opening day, maybe even with Tissaia in tow.

Nothing had prepared Jaskier for the insanity of opening day.

It didn’t matter that not only had Triss reassured him of guaranteed success or that his mum and Essi had utmost faith in him, despite having seen nothing but photos. It was a terrifying prospect though. He was a twenty-two year old first-time business owner and he was taking a massive risk. One that would be amazing if he pulled it off.

With less than an hour until he officially opened the door for the first time - and probably running on the same amount of sleep - Jaskier made sure that the coffee machines were ready to go and the display cases were full of baked goods and sandwiches.

With less than five minutes until opening, Jaskier raked a hand through his hair, pressed play on Essi’s first album and then promptly had a mini panic attack upon realising that there was a queue of people waiting for him to open the doors. And not just queuing but peering eagerly through the windows, trying to sneak a peek at what lay inside.

The day passed in a blur. 

Jaskier barely had the time to grab water to keep himself hydrated as what seemed like a never-ending stream of customers came through the doors. He wasn’t so confident to think that every single day would be like this but if he could keep half this footfall then his father would have to eat his words. 

His fellow business owners stopped by. 

One of Triss’ colleagues at Aretuza stopped by mid-morning and bestowed her approval with a sharp nod; at least, that was what Jaskier hoped it meant. Stregobor also came and Jaskier, as busy as he was, didn’t fail to notice the wide berth that he was given by the other customers. The cute prop forward owner of Griffin Books appeared at lunchtime - Coën, he thought that was what Triss had called him - and seemed exactly like the teddy bear she had described him as. There had been a blonde-haired blur with a boy in tow mid-afternoon but, by that point, Jaskier had run out of sandwiches and was stressing about his seriously depleted cake stocks so didn’t pay them too much attention beyond what they ordered.

Triss slipped in just as Jaskier was about to close the door, the beautiful dark-haired, violet-eyed woman trailing in her wake.

“Well?”

“I think it went well?” In truth, Jaskier was more than a little dazed and confused by how the day went.

“I think it went a little better than well, puppy.”

Jaskier blinked at the woman who had just spoken and absently noted that this was a woman who could crush him easily and, in all probability, would enjoy doing so.

“Jaskier, this is my girlfriend Yennefer. Yen, this is Jaskier; I told you about him.”

“Hello, puppy. Your baking was surprisingly edible.”

Triss brushed a kiss against Jaskier’s cheek as she whispered audibly, “that’s Yen-speak for really bloody good. Ta da!” She produced a bottle of champagne and three flutes, “you deserve to celebrate but after the day you’ve had, you’d fall asleep the minute we step into Cintra.”

“You’re not wrong. I hoped I’d get some customers, but I never expected this. I might actually have to consider hiring someone to help because if it continues anything like this, I’ll keel over.”

“I know the perfect candidate. I’ll bring her in tomorrow, and you can interview her as a formality.”

Jaskier’s mouth opened and shut several times, somewhat taken aback by how easily this woman who he’d barely met had steamrolled over him so easily. He wasn’t sure if he liked it - or Yennefer - but he sure as hell wasn’t going to argue with her. Instead, he took the flute of bubbling champagne when Triss handed it to him and clinked glasses with them as Triss proposed the toast.

“To Jaskier and Cafe Wanderlust.”


	2. Sunshine Through The Rain

Triss and Yennefer only stayed long enough for Jaskier to finish his glass of champagne before they excused themselves. He said farewell to them, locked up and cashed up before retreating upstairs to his little flat. Jaskier then managed to stay awake long enough to message his mum and Essi and set the alarm on his phone before he face-planted on his bed. He didn’t move an inch until his alarm went off at what felt like an obnoxiously early hour the next morning. The only thing that he was grateful for was that Sunday opening laws meant that at least it was daylight when he woke up.

Jaskier had a flat above the café and, well, at the moment it definitely looked far worse than some of the student housing that he and Essi had lived in. His mum would be horrified if she saw it and, in all probability, would try and send him some furniture from the Estate. The only things that Jaskier had bothered to set up were the bedroom, the kitchen and the bathroom. Out of those, the only room that had truly been set up properly was the kitchen. His bedroom had a bed and some sort of wardrobe if you squinted and looked through your fingers. The bathroom had a beautiful standalone bath but that was it. All of Jaskier’s focus had been on Wanderlust. Even with all of the work that Jaskier had put into the flat kitchen, he wasn’t exactly using it at the moment. Breakfast was coffee and Coco Pops while dinner was, inevitably, beans on toast or a Pot Noodle.

He’d tried to be circumspect with his finances when he was setting up and tried not to go too overboard. He may be lucky enough to have family money behind him, but he didn’t want to run away with it. That being said, there was a difference between being circumspect and being a martyr. He didn’t know if yesterday was going to be a one-off or de rigeur, but he could hope. If he wanted to stay alive past his first month of opening and not die of exhaustion, then maybe he needed to employ someone to help him with the baking. That being said, maybe he could train up this apparently perfect employee that Yennefer was bringing in.

Jaskier wasn’t completely certain how he felt about Yennefer railroading him into a new employee the first time that he met her. It wasn’t as though he was going to object on purpose, but it was tempting. Then again, he had the feeling that being railroaded by Yennefer into things that he was uncertain about was going to be a staple of his life. He also had the feeling that the day that Essi and Yennefer met there would be fireworks and he wouldn’t like to place odds on who would win in a fight.

Speaking of Essi, it was probably too early to give her a call and let her know how the first day had gone, even once he had the first trays of pastries in the oven. After they had graduated, Essi had gone backpacking for a while, filling her Instagram with beautiful photos and her notebook with even more beautiful lyrics. They had Facetimed and WhatsApp’d and Jaskier wasn’t remotely surprised when she returned with enough new material to create an album. She had settled down in London, in some awful hipster flat share in Shoreditch that she had found on Gumtree, and was paying her rent and bills through a combination of gigs in clubs and pubs as well as giving private instrumental lessons to uninterested children whose parents had too much money and the opinion that music lessons were the done thing. Every week she squirreled away what money she could to get one step closer to self-recording her first proper album. Jaskier had a gut feeling that, once her stuff had been heard by the right person, Essi was going to be the next big thig and he couldn’t think of anyone who deserved it more.

With Essi not being an option, Jaskier knew that he could phone his mum – who was probably sitting on her hands to stop herself from phoning him – but he didn’t know what time Yennefer was bringing round his potential employee given that she hadn’t deigned to tell him. By the time that there was a no nonsense rap on the front door, Jaskier had the pastries out of the oven and in the display cabinets, most of the sandwiches made and the cakes turned out onto wire racks to cool and be iced. He spared a minute to sigh happily over his state of the art kitchen – there had been a lot of caressing, sighing and involuntary dolphin noises and he was genuinely surprised that he hadn’t been reported for inappropriate behaviour given his actions in the appliance shop – before he hurried to open the front door.

Quite unfairly, considering Jaskier undoubtedly looked like a walking human disaster – and yeah, he should probably work on that given you know business owner not a student – Yennefer looked incredibly well put together. Like, supermodel put together. Jaskier was pretty sure those boots were Louboutin, that handbag was definitely Yves San Laurent and he was sure that Essi and a couple of the girls had been flailing about that jacket when photos of the Paris fashion shows were released so maybe it was Chanel? Whatever she was wearing, it was definitely designer and worth more than your average beauty salon owner normally earned. Maybe that wasn’t her only job. Maybe Yennefer was an assassin or something like that. She was certainly scary enough. It was only when Yennefer raised a rather imperious eyebrow that Jaskier realised he hadn’t actually opened the door and he scrambled to do precisely that.

Much as she had done the previous evening, Yennefer swanned into Café Wanderlust as though she owned it rather than Jaskier. Trailing in her wake was a teenage girl. At least, Jaskier assumed she was a teenager. What he was sure about was this this was the granddaughter of the owner of Kaer Morhen and 95% sure that she was the blonde blur from the previous day.

“Jaskier, this is Ciri Rhiannon, granddaughter of Vesemir.”

“Ciri, this is Jaskier. He owns Café Wanderlust. He’s potentially your new boss.”

Despite the use of the word potentially, Jaskier felt it was more like inevitable. He looked Ciri up and down, knowing that she was doing exactly the same to him. She wouldn’t see much; Jaskier didn’t tend to make too much of an effort unless he was performing or going clubbing. At the moment, he just looked like a hot mess; skinny jeans and t-shirt covered in flour, hair as though it hadn’t seen a brush for a couple of days. Ciri, on the other hand, was rocking some kind of aesthetic. It probably had some kind of name, but Jaskier didn’t know it. All he knew was that there was a strange combination of black, skulls and pastels that somehow worked amazingly well.

“So, I have to say, I don’t feel remotely qualified to be interviewing anyone, let alone employing them. Yennefer seemed to think that you’d be perfect for Café Wanderlust. Why do you think that might be?”

“I like the vibe of the place. It’s fun and quirky and your cake is amazing. I’m used to working in cafes and I know 80% of your customer base considering I grew up across the road. Plus, you know, you need someone to help before you keel over. Besides, you seem like a good boss. Better than the last one.”

“Do you need to give notice on your current job?” Jaskier raised an eyebrow as Yennefer gave a rather unexpected snort and Ciri winced.

“I don’t have a job at the moment. Grandpa won’t let me work at Kaer Morhen after I yelled at Letho. He deserved it though; he’s a creep. And I may have got sacked from my last job at Starbucks.”

“That’s impressive. I was a student not so long ago and they’ll take pretty much anyone. How the hell did you manage to get fired?”

“They disliked the makeup, the nail varnish and the piercings.”

“And? They wouldn’t have fired you for that alone, no matter how much they disliked them…”

“Apparently opinions and sass aren’t a good thing to have in a teenage girl. I may have chucked coffee over a customer and his friends when he was making homophobic and transphobic comments. The dickheads were laughing and everything. I also might have called them dickheads as well.”

“Well, I certainly won’t fire you for anything like that. In fact, I think that that makes you pretty perfect for Wanderlust because I am as queer as they come.”

Ciri actually perked up at that, almost bouncing in her seat. “Could we do something for Pride? There are so many people around here who would be interested. Sorry … you haven’t even told me if you have the job yet.”

“Maybe we’ll just start with rainbows in the windows. Can you work those machines?” Jaskier gestured over his shoulder at the metal monstrosities he had spent an almost obscene amount of money on.

“In my sleep. Do you have a dress code?”

“Nothing with swear words on it and we’re good. I did some research on wages; does £9 an hour plus tips sound okay?”

“When do you want me to start?”

“Today?” Jaskier smiled at the piercing squeal of delight that emanated from Ciri. “I have to ice the cakes still. Maybe you could fill out the paperwork while I do that? I mean, I think I have all of the right paperwork. Virgin boss here.”

“I can help with that; I have plenty of practice from Aretuza.”

Jaskier moved back into the kitchen, listening to the quiet muttering of Yennefer and Ciri as he started to ice the now-cooled cakes. As he lost himself in the familiar almost mindless work of piping, Jaskier did his best not to have a panic attack at the fact that he was now responsible for an employee.

~*~

Day two was practically a doddle with Ciri helping him. He was going to have to look into how many hours she was legally allowed to work because she made such a difference and he didn’t want to break any laws. True to her word, Ciri was a whizz with the coffee machines and filled orders quickly and competently. She was also a damn sight quicker with the till than Jaskier had been the previous day. It meant that Jaskier could focus on making sure that the display cabinets didn’t run empty and chatting to customers. There was a spike in customers at lunchtime but, with the two of them, they coped. It was around that time that Jaskier realised there was someone else working in the café, clearing tables and ferrying the used crockery into the kitchen.

“Wha? Who? How?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s my best friend, Dara. You can fill out his paperwork after if you want to hire him.”

Jaskier’s mouth opened and closed several times like a rather unattractive goldfish. “Who owns this shop? Me, you or Yennefer?”

Ciri gave a smile that had a slightly predatory edge, something that she had to have learned from Yennefer. “We’ll let you think that you run the show if it makes you feel better.”

Ciri’s friend – Dara, was it – patted Jaskier on the back. “She’s always been a force of nature. You get used to it.”

“I’m not sure I will.” Jaskier turned and took a proper look at the boy. “Do you actually want to be here? Are you actually looking for a job? Were you even given a choice?”

“Yes, yes and yes.”

Jaskier sagged, like a puppet that had just had its strings cut. “Okay, we’ll sort paperwork out once we’ve closed up.”

“Yes, Mr Pankratz. Thank you, Mr Pankratz.”

“Yeah, if you want a job here you won’t call me that again. Mr Pankratz is my father. Sort of. It’s Jaskier.”

Dara grinned and carried on with his self-appointed task while Jaskier disappeared into the toilet and tried not to have his second panic attack of the day at the fact that – in the space of five hours – he had gone from no employees to two.

It was around fifteen minutes to closing when Jaskier realised that there was someone still sat in the corner, over by the mural who showed no sign of leaving, despite a few hints. Dara had already started loading and running the dishwasher so Jaskier nudged Ciri away from the coffee machines in that direction.

“Can you go and tell him that we’re closing in fifteen and he needs to start thinking about leaving?”

“Who?”

“The slightly scary looking man in the corner by the mural.”

Ciri just laughed at him. “That slightly scary man is my Grandpa Vesemir. I texted him earlier and he’d like to meet you.”

“Okay, that’s fine. I can do that.”

“You don’t have a choice, Jaskier.”

“I’m going to regret hiring you, aren’t I?”

Jaskier couldn’t help but laugh as Ciri gave an impish grin and poked her tongue out.

“You mean you don’t already?”

“Hang on, your grandpa is called _Vesemir?”_

(~*~)?

As the clock struck four, Jaskier saw the few dawdlers out of the door, locked it and flipped the sign to ‘closed’. He then left Ciri and Dara to finish cleaning out the coffee machine, pack away the few remaining pastries and set the dishwasher going one last time. While they did that, Jaskier made his way over to Ciri’s grandfather with more than a little trepidation and a triple chocolate muffin for good measure.

“Hi, umm, Mr …” Jaskier racked his brain for the surname that Ciri had placed on her paperwork, “Mr Rhiannon?”

“No, it’s Deglan. Vesemir Deglan. Ciri’s adopted.”

“Oh, okay. Of course, I’m sorry. I’m Jaskier Pankratz, owner of Café Wanderlust and boss of Ciri, I guess.”

“More fool you, kid. Did Yennefer convince you to hire her?”

“Yes? Well, Ciri made a good case for herself as well.” This wasn’t exactly what Jaskier was expecting, “do you want a muffin? I make them all myself.”

“I don’t eat food like that. She’s a good kid, a bit too independent but what can you expect given that she was raised by my boys.”

“Your boys?”

“I have three foster sons. One of them is Ciri’s adopted father. I’m her guardian while he’s out of the country. Military.”

“Ah, I understand. Are you happy for her to work for me? I don’t want to cause any problems with school or anything like that.”

“Best that she’s out of sight of Letho. She spends too much time around old men, this’ll be good for her. She’s a good kid but you tell me if she’s causing trouble and I’ll sort her out.”

“I’ll bear that in mind, sir.”

“I’m no sir. Haven’t been since I left the Corps myself. It’s Vesemir, just Vesemir.”

Ciri chose that moment to bound over, Dara trailing in her wake, and digging into the muffin that her grandpa had turned his nose up at.

“Grandpa, you’re not being mean to Jaskier are you? Because that’s not allowed. I like him.”

“You like everyone.”

“Not true. I don’t like Stregebor or Letho.”

“Not liking Stregebor is good sense and Letho was being an arse. Even more than usual. Your Uncle Lambert would definitely approve, never mind your father or Uncle Eskel. Jaskier, how many hours is she going to be working for you?”

“Well, it looks like I’m hiring Dara as well, so I was thinking 8 hours for both of them on a Saturday and then two hours each on a Sunday?” _Thank fuck for Google._ “I don’t think I can legally hire them for more than that and I don’t want to intrude into their education.”

“Good. You and I are going to get on, Jaskier was it? You let me know if she gives you any grief and I’ll sort her out.”

_“Grandpa!”_

“Noted. Thank you, Mr Deglan.”

“Just call me Vesemir, it’s fine.”

“Yes, sir … sorry, Vesemir. Are you sure I can’t get you a muffin? Or coffee?”

“I’m sure on the muffin. I’ll take a coffee. Black.”

Jaskier ignored the muttered ‘like his soul’ comment from his newest employee and proceeded to stand up and make the drink.

“Of course.”

Jaskier had the feeling that he had passed. Maybe by the skin of his teeth, but he had passed. As long as you ignored the way that he was now more intrigued than ever by Kaer Morhen and Ciri’s mysterious father and uncles. There was time enough for that later.

Day two. Survived.

~*~

Jaskier couldn’t help but stare as his newest employee got himself set up to make the days orders of brownies. He still wasn’t entirely sure about the guy and how he was going to fit in at Café Wanderlust with Ciri and Dara, but the guy knew his stuff when it came to baking and, well, Jaskier needed as much help as he could with the baking side of the business considering what had happened when he tried to teach Ciri and Dara. Ciri more so than Dara.

_***FLASHBACK***_

_Jaskier made it ten days into Café Wanderlust being open before he decided that he needed to teach Ciri and Dara how to bake. The café was more successful than Jaskier had dreamed that it would be. They did steady business on a Monday-Friday and then were rushed off their feet on a weekend. Jaskier was just about managing to keep up with demand but it was a close-run thing. He was also exhausted. He still wasn’t sure about hiring anybody else so teaching his two current employees seemed to be the most obvious choice._

_It was an unmitigated disaster._

_Jaskier had chosen the simplest recipe that he could think of. One that he had been making since he was a child and barely able to see over the kitchen table. Jaskier might not have tried to teach anyone to bake before – those drunken occasions at uni didn’t count - but he knew his stuff. Dara, at least, could follow instructions, even if the end result wasn’t particularly inspiring. Ciri? Well, there were no words. She had had exactly the same ingredients as both Jaskier and Dara but somehow – and none of them were sure how – her version had ended up completely and utterly inedible. They tasted as though she had started with completely different ingredients and recipe. She had burnt her hand, ended up with several smears of mixture baked onto the hob and burned her baking, even though Jaskier and Dara’s own creations had been in the same oven and hadn’t burned._

_At least she had been able to see the funny side._

_They all had. The three of them had ended up sat on the floor of Wanderlust’s kitchen, cake mix smeared all over them and the surfaces laughing hysterically._

_“I think that’s it, Jaskier. You need to hire someone to help you with the baking because we definitely can’t.”_

_***END FLASHBACK***_

Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach – and yes, Jaskier had maybe cried a little bit when he had to fill in the paperwork – was another hire courtesy of Yennefer. He had mentioned that he needed to find someone to help with the baking and the next day Cahir had walked through the door, saying that Yennefer had told him about the job opening. Jaskier had asked how the man knew Yennefer, only succeeding in getting the answer that he had dated someone called Fringilla who had apparently also been trained by Tissaia but had left Aretuza somewhat acrimoniously. Cahir and Yennefer weren’t exactly friendly but had remained aware of each other. Despite the fact that he felt more than a little out of control, Jaskier knew that he had to employ the guy after he had tasted his baking. He had joked that, given she had found him both of his employees, he should probably pay Yennefer a finder’s fee, but she had just smirked and handed over a recipe instead, informing Jaskier that she expected a batch a week.

Jaskier hadn’t been sure about how he’d feel having another baker in his space. He hadn’t shared space with anyone since he had been a child in the kitchens in Lettenhove. He had broached the subject with Cahir, stumbling and tripping over his words like nobody’s business. Cahir had merely given him an inscrutable look that had Jaskier squirming with the intensity of it before informing Jaskier that he didn’t do the ‘fancy, over the top’ cakes that Jaskier liked baking and he would happily deal with the pastries, brownies and bread, leaving the rest of the baking to Jaskier.

That had been fine with Jaskier because all of those things were the ones that took the longest amount of time and he had never had the patience waiting for bread to prove. Even better when they came up with an agreement whereby, having handed over a set of keys, Jaskier didn’t have to get up at 4am anymore to get the breakfast baking started. Instead, Cahir came in to do that and Jaskier simply had to be up and ready for when the café opened at 8am.

Cahir might not be the most loquacious of employees and they were never going to socialise together outside of Wanderlust, but Jaskier definitely had no complaints about the quality of the baking. Neither did the customers. The only things that he wasn’t sure about were the man’s intensity or his choice in music. Jaskier was pretty sure that he had watched porn with less intensity and Eternal Flame? Really? Still, considering how good his brownies were, Jaskier was willing to put up with a few eccentricities.

~*~

Jaskier knew that Coën was up to something the minute that he chose to sit at one of the bar stools near the counter rather than his usual armchair by the window. The burly bookshop owner had been a regular customer in Wanderlust since it had opened and would come in three or four times a week. Sometimes he would come in for lunch, other days it was coffee, cake and a chat. Every Thursday he closed Griffin Books early as he had a standing late lunch with his ridiculously hot friend Aiden. In fact, Jaskier counted the other man as a friend alongside Triss and Yennefer. They also had the common bond that Coën was a fellow young business owner – only a few years older than Jaskier – and more than willing to listen to Jaskier vent or give him advice, often while acting as a guinea pig for Jaskier’s newest creations.

Considering that he was built like a prop-forward and was as frequent a visitor to Kaer Morhen as he was to Wanderlust, Coën was nothing like the sporty guys that Jaskier had previously encountered. Given that he owned a bookshop, Coën was inordinately well-read and had been delighted to hear that Jaskier wrote his own songs. He had even professed to writing and self-publishing some poetry himself. Coën was also fascinated by the music side of Jaskier’s degree and constantly asked to hear him perform. Jaskier was going to cave and indulge him one day but he hadn’t exactly had much time to play, let alone practice, since he had bought Wanderlust. Deciding to take advantage of a momentary lull, Jaskier brought over Coën’s coffee and sandwich along with the same for himself.

“So, what has you sitting up here rather than in your usual spot?”

“Can’t a man hope for some conversation with his food?”

“This is more than conversation.”

“So suspicious. Maybe. I was thinking, what do you think to maybe doing a couple of open mic type evenings here?”

Jaskier took a huge bite of his sandwich and tried not to moan too loudly. Cahir had been experimenting with the bread flavours again and, whatever it was, it was amazing. He then turned his attention to Coën.

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I really like the idea of it but I’m not sure how it would work. Even with Cahir helping me with the baking and Ciri and Dara on a weekend, I’m shattered. I don’t know how I can feasibly open more hours.”

“Hire more staff. I’ve told you this. I know you’re concerned about over-extending yourself financially but we can always get you an appointment with Vilgefortz; he does the accounts for most of us here and he’ll look over your books as a favour to some of us. I’m sure Aiden would be able to find some people willing to work part time for you.”

“Why Aiden?”

“Well he’s a professor at the local university. I’m sure he’ll have some trustworthy students looking for part-time work.”

Jaskier choked on his sandwich. “Aiden’s a professor? But … but he’s hot!”

Coën gave a booming laugh and waggled his eyebrows. “Haven’t you heard of Indiana Jones?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Are you shitting me? Aiden’s a fucking professor of archaeology?”

“Yep. He’s published and actually highly regarded in archaeology circles. He’ll disappear off on digs at various points in the year and I think he’s been approached to front at least three tv shows. Sings like a dying cat though so don’t expect him to sing at your open mic nights though. Fabulous dancer instead; he’s always popular at Cintra. You’ll have to join us sometime. You look like you’d enjoy a good club night.”

“I’d love to. It’s been so long since I’ve been out. I’ve been so focused on this place.”

“Then it’s sorted. Next time we go out, we’ll make a night of it. Get Triss and Yennefer to come as well. Now, back to the open mic night…”

“Oh look! Customers!” Jaskier jumped up and dealt with the new patrons. When he had finished, Coën was still sat there. “Don’t you have a business to run? Books to sell and all that. Look, it’s a nice idea but I don’t have a liquor licence or the staff to help or even a piano.”

“Bring your own booze to start off with. I’ll get you an appointment with Vilgefortz and I’m sure we can find a piano from somewhere.”

“You’re not giving up on this, are you?”

“Nope. Just imagine it; acoustic music, poetry readings, your amazing cake…”

“I’ll think about it. That’s the best you’re getting.”

“I’ll wear you down. I’ll enlist Ciri and Triss in my fight and we will be victorious!”

Jaskier laughed and shooed Coën out, “we’ll see.”

~*~

True to his word, Coën had enlisted Ciri in his campaign and Jaskier couldn’t help but indulge her.

He had grown inordinately fond of Ciri and was starting to view her as something of a surrogate little sister. On a Sunday, she and Dara would bring their homework and sit in the corner doing it when they weren’t working their two-hour shift. She would also come in sometimes on an evening when Wanderlust was closed and keep Jaskier company while he cleaned up and did bits of prep. Ciri would also eat leftover cake, stating that she was never allowed cake at home. Jaskier had learned a lot about Ciri since that day Yennefer had brought her around, given that she was a veritable force of nature bouncing around Wanderlust. By contrast, Dara was much quieter, content to trail in her wake and not giving away too much information.

He learned that Ciri’s parents – Pavetta and Duny – had been the daughter of Calanthe, one of Vesemir’s former colleagues in the Corps. More than that, Calanthe had been the Commanding Officer of Ciri’s adopted father. It had been for that reason that he had ended up adopting Ciri; there was no other family and while Geralt was still enlisted, Calanthe trusted him and Vesemir with her only grandchild. Ciri didn’t remember her parents given how young she had been when they died, but she had fond albeit vague memories of her grandmother and grandfather Eist.

Ciri’s whole world had been her grandmother and her grandfather.

Then, it had been her dad, her grandpa and her uncles. Now, it had expanded to include Jaskier, Café Wanderlust and Dara.

On the subject of her dad and two uncles, Ciri could wax rhapsodic. Jaskier learned that her dad and uncle Eskel gave the best hugs, completely encompassing. How her dad wasn’t a man of many words, but she had never doubted the fact that he loved her. How her uncle Eskel was built like a bear but, in actuality, was a total softie. How her uncle Lambert – the youngest of the three – indulged her mischievous streak and was always teaching her how to swear in different languages and pick locks. That Eskel would braid her hair, Lambert had taught her how to do her make-up and her dad would sit through rom-com’s with her without complaint. How they had taught her to fight and to stand up for her beliefs. How, when she got her first period, they had all collectively freaked out and it had been up to Yennefer to give her the talk. Jaskier heard how not a single one of them could cook anything that tasted good and her grandpa was no better. Food was fuel for the body, what did it matter if it tasted good?

Ciri told Jaskier how all three of them had done their best by her, even when they were on tours overseas. They had pooled their telephone calls so that they could keep in touch with her more and had read stories aloud over Skype and telephone conversations. She had a myriad of gifts from all over the world that they had sent back to her and a box full of letters, one from each of them every single week. That, when they returned from tour, she was their priority and they spent all of their time with her and no-one else. She spoke about how much she missed them and how desperately she wanted them home all the time, but she understood that what they did was important.

In many ways, Jaskier envied her. He might have lived with his parents but, in many ways, Ciri’s life had been much richer than his. Her dad and uncles may not be physically present, but she was in no doubt that they loved her and were proud of her. It was so different to how he had grown up. Yes, he knew that his mother loved him and was proud of him, but she would never acknowledge it publicly; it was always private where his father couldn’t see and comment upon it.

Jaskier wasn’t entirely sure how long Ciri had worked for him before he finally saw a photo of her father and uncles.

It wasn’t something that he was going to forget.

Oh no, this was something that was going straight into Jaskier’s spank bank. Serious wank material right there.

Seriously how was it possible for three people who were not related to each other to be so impossibly hot. The photo had clearly been taken on a base somewhere in the Middle East, with all three men shirtless and in combat fatigues on the bottom half. Glistening in sweat, scars on display and arms thrown around each other. They weren’t smiling but that somehow made them even more attractive. Jaskier stared as Ciri pointed out each man. The two with dark hair were her uncles Eskel and Lambert while the Adonis with white blond hair was her dad – Geralt.

Oh, who was Jaskier kidding, they all resembled Greek gods. In fact, it was all he could do to hold back the whimpers and try to hide his half-hard cock from his employee.

It had been far too long since he had been laid. A night out at Cintra couldn’t come soon enough.

(~*~)

“Nope,” Jaskier shook his head as Ciri bounced through the door at 7.58, “you know my dress code. No swear words. I love the sweatshirt and I want to know where you got it, but you can’t wear it for your shift. You’re late as well.”

“But I am a fucking unicorn. Besides, I’m not late. It’s 7.58 and my shift doesn’t start until 8. I’m bang on time.”

Jaskier looked behind Ciri to the dark-haired man that had followed her into Wanderlust and spoke automatically, “I’m sorry we’re not … actually open yet. You’re not a paying customer.”

“Not really?” The man looked almost sheepish as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I wasn’t exactly expected back. Last minute leave. The sweatshirt was a gift.”

It was the last words that clued Jaskier in if the way that Ciri was bouncing around hadn’t. This wasn’t just a paying customer. This was Ciri’s Uncle Lambert and he was just as damn attractive in real life as he had been on a small phone screen.

“Get the machines fired up kiddo, you know that there’ll be a queue as soon as we open the doors.” Jaskier held out a hand, “I’m Jaskier. Ciri’s boss.”

“Lambert. Her uncle.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Ditto. The kid was talking about you and this place every time we called. Geralt was concerned until Vesemir told us what was going on. It’s good to meet you at last.”

“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine.”

“Jaskier, can you stop flirting with Uncle Lambert please? It’s weird.”

“No promises, kiddo.” Jaskier ran his gaze appreciatively over Lambert once more. Yeah, definitely no promises.


	3. For Your Entertainment

Lambert became the newest member of the Café Wanderlust family.

He would spend the morning at Kaer Morhen – at least that’s where Jaskier assumed he spent his time – and would wander over to Wanderlust at lunchtime, spending the rest of the afternoon there. He liked the table in the corner by the toilet, underneath the painting of the red welly boots and it took Jaskier nearly a week to realise that Lambert had chosen it because of the fact that it had sight-lines to everywhere else in Wanderlust. Apparently, you could take the man out of the Army, but it was much harder to remove the Army from the man.

After a week, that table was known as Lambert’s and it was time for him to meet the rest of the occupants of Café Wanderlust. He had seen some of them around when he had been home on leave but only really knew Yennefer.

It wasn’t quite as successful as Jaskier had hoped.

Not entirely.

Triss introduced herself. As did Coën. They were both successful, but then Jaskier would have been surprised if Lambert hadn’t liked them. Both Triss and Coën were some of the sweetest people that Jaskier had ever met; and given that he had known Essi for four years, they had some serious competition. Jaskier supposed it helped that they both completely ignored Lambert’s prickly nature and all of the little quirks that he had. Instead, they simply treated him like they had treated Jaskier from the beginning; as though he was a friend. Admittedly, Lambert looked more than a little overwhelmed when Triss plonked herself down at his table and started chatting at him, but he was strong enough to cope. As for Coën, well, Jaskier wasn’t certain but he was pretty sure that after Coën had introduced himself, the two of them were training together at Kaer Morhen.

Introducing Lambert to Yennefer and Cahir was not quite as successful.

Just as he had been convinced introducing Lambert to Triss and Coën would be a success, Jaskier had had a hunch that it wouldn’t be as simple with Yennefer and Cahir. After all, Jaskier’s own relationships with the two of them weren’t as simple.

While Jaskier’s faith in Cahir’s baking was unquestionable – the man made some of the best bread that Jaskier had ever tasted and his brownies could definitely be classified as food porn – they didn’t have a relationship beyond that of employer and employee. They spent approximately three hours together in the kitchen every day but, even then, they didn’t really interact. Unless it was to ask for ingredients. Lambert took his cues from Jaskier and, beyond the initial introductions, he simply avoided Cahir. Lambert ensured that he was never in Wanderlust before the start of lunch, which was the end of Cahir’s shift. The only time that they had crossed paths, Lambert had actually honest-to-god growled at Cahir and they had never met again. Lambert even went as far as refusing to eat Cahir’s brownies.

And then there was Yennefer.

Lambert seemed to dislike Yennefer just as much as he disliked Cahir but in a different way. Jaskier’s own relationship with Yennefer was complicated. As much as he loved Triss, Jaskier was very aware that Yennefer was a woman who could destroy him and simultaneously not break a sweat and enjoy it. As a result, Jaskier tended to tread on eggshells where Yennefer was concerned. Not that it seemed to make a difference; she called him puppy irrespective.

Yennefer called Lambert puppy as well but, whereas Jaskier tried to avoid conflict, Lambert would do his best to incite conflict. He and Yennefer were constantly sniping at each with snide comments and insults that were as subtle as they could manage – Yennefer ruled the roost here. Jaskier tried to referee wherever possible but, well, he did have a business to run.

Weirdly, Lambert seemed to enjoy his time with Yennefer, liked the sass and the snark between them. He was much happier with Triss and Coën but that was hardly surprising. Even Cahir liked them and Jaskier didn’t think that Cahir liked anyone. Except for maybe the ovens in Wanderlust’s kitchen. Jaskier knew that they were beautiful ovens – he had spent a long time choosing them and a stupid amount of money – but he couldn’t help but feel that Cahir’s appreciation of them was a little unhealthy.

Even despite his prickliness with Yennefer and his outright avoidance of Cahir – and his brownies - Lambert became a part of Wanderlust. Jaskier was well aware that he was essentially adopting a family around him and he loved it.

Interestingly, what Jaskier discovered the more that he spent time with Lambert was that, yes, the man was hot. Ridiculously so, but Jaskier wasn’t attracted to him. No, that wasn’t quite right. Jaskier could recognise and appreciate that Lambert was a very attractive man but that didn’t mean that he wanted to put his dick anywhere near the man. Or have Lambert’s dick anywhere near him. That didn’t stop him from flirting though because when it came to flirting, Lambert was fun.

Lambert also flirted unashamedly with Triss and, in a moment of bravery – or madness – tried a line on Tissaia. His chat-up lines were cheesy as fuck and completely old-school but then what else was Jaskier expecting? This was a man who was confident and clearly knew that he was good-looking but, while the Army had allowed openly LGBT citizens to serve for at least a decade, there was a possibility that Lambert had served when it wasn’t allowed. Besides, cheesy as fuck and old-school as they were, they were fun. Jaskier probably hadn’t laughed so much before. Because there was no pressure there, they both became ever more ridiculous with what they were saying. In fact, some of them were positively outlandish but they were worth it and didn’t feel such a fool because it was during these times – and when he was with Ciri – that Jaskier saw a different side of Lambert.

When they were flirting or when Ciri was around, Jaskier could see the man that Ciri had told him stories about. The man that had taught her how to pick locks, how to swear in a multitude of languages. Yet, at other times, Jaskier could see shadows in his eyes and a darkness that Lambert wanted to hide from his beloved niece. That didn’t truly surprise Jaskier. After all, surely no man could do multiple tours in the military in war zones and return completely unscathed.

Lambert definitely wasn’t unscathed. He had a habit of tapping his fingers anxiously, almost as though he needed to be aware of what they were doing. Jaskier had noted more than one occasion where he had a visceral reaction to arguments between other patrons however much he tried to hide it and, according to Coën, there had been more than one fight at Kaer Morhen. Vesemir actually kept a list of patrons that Lambert wasn’t allowed anywhere near.

In the evenings, while his experimental bakes were in the oven, Jaskier trawled the internet in the name of research. He googled the shit out of things that he had noticed, talked to Essi in abstract terms and visited a myriad of message boards. It didn’t take Jaskier long to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

Or at least the pieces that he could.

It could be PTSD but Jaskier didn’t think that was all there was to it. Something had definitely happened, something that Lambert was not willing to acknowledge and it was affecting him badly.

It was what Jaskier expected but, at the same time, he hoped that hadn’t been the conclusion he came to. His heart ached for Lambert, but also for Ciri and Vesemir, and Jaskier swore to himself that he would do whatever he could to help the newest member of his family. 

(~*~)

“When are you going to tell her?”

“Fuck! Jaskier, warn a guy when you’re sneaking up on them, would you?”

Jaskier was glad that he’d taken the opportunity to close the shop before approaching Lambert. The older man had been so lost wherever he was that he hadn’t noticed the other customers leaving. As for Jaskier, well, he hadn’t missed the way that Lambert’s hand had automatically gone for the knife on his plate and he knew that he was right. That all of his research had probably been right. If it wasn’t PTSD, then it was something damn close to it and he was going to have to tread bloody carefully.

“Surely that would defeat the object of sneaking, wouldn’t it?”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Ciri.”

“And you’ve been spending an awful lot of time here. How long was your leave again?”

Lambert mumbled in response, but it wasn’t clear so Jaskier pressed ahead, glad that he had been able to shut Wanderlust and Ciri was still at school.

“You’re not on leave, are you? You wouldn’t be looking at requirements to be a personal trainer if you were going back. What I don’t understand is why you haven’t told Ciri. Does Vesemir know?”

“You’re too smart sometimes, buttercup. No, I’m not going back out. I’m home for good. Yes, Vesemir knows. As for Ciri, well … she’s always been so proud of us. Idolised us even. How do I tell her that I fucked up? That I’ve gone from being a Royal Marine to being a personal trainer? I won’t even be that for a while yet.”

“If you think she’ll be ashamed of you, then you’re a complete and utter moron. I may not have known Ciri that long, but I like to think I know her pretty well by now. You’re right, she idolises you, her dad and her Uncle Eskel. Because of that, I don’t think you could do anything that would change her opinion of you or make her any less proud of you.”

"I thought I was coming for coffee and cake, not psychoanalysis."

"You don’t eat the cake. God knows why because it’s fucking brilliant. And if you don’t talk to me, who else are you going to talk to? Vesemir? Ciri? Your brothers?"

There was something in the way that Lambert responded that made Jaskier wonder if he would have to go and see Vesemir himself.

“Look, I’m not going to make you talk about it and, to be perfectly honest, I think it would be better if you spoke to a professional. I might not have known you long, but I’ve grown very fond of you. For your own sake, not just Ciri’s. Think about it.”

Jaskier squeezed Lambert’s shoulder and wandered off to start the process of closing the café for the night. He had just reached the counter when he heard Lambert’s voice behind him, oh so soft.

“Vesemir has a list of names. Therapists. I’ll ask him for it. And I’ll have a piece of the lime and ginger cake. The big one.”

“Coming right up, Lamb.”

~*~

It was a reasonably busy Friday afternoon in Wanderlust. Ciri had an inset day from school so was sat claiming to help Jaskier by taste-testing his newest recipe. There were a few other customers in but Sabrina - one of Aiden's postgrads that Jaskier had ended up employing after Vilgefortz had convinced him he could afford it - was easily taking care of them, which meant that Jaskier could sit with his friends. All of the conversations came to an abrupt halt as a hulking form walked through the door.

“Letho, what do you want?” Lambert all but growled the words out, shifting minutely to try and angle himself in front of Jaskier and Ciri.

So, this was Letho. The great big bald behemoth that Jaskier had seen frequenting Kaer Morhen on a daily basis since he had bought Wanderlust. The man that he had heard Ciri grumbling about. He looked like a bit of a brute, an almost cruel tilt to his mouth and his eyes were cold. Jaskier was not oblivious to how tense Lambert was beside him, holding himself ramrod straight. Even Coën, giant teddy bear that he was, was more tense than usual.

“Heard you were looking for a piano. My grandmother has one she can’t play anymore. It’s yours if you want it.”

Jaskier perked up at that. The second open mic night that Coën had finally convinced him into holding was the following evening and he still didn't have a piano. It wasn't essential and the first one had been successful enough, but Jaskier wanted one. Besides, he'd missed having one. When he and Essi had lived together, they had an electric keyboard in the living room but that had been Essi's and now occupied a good third of her bedroom in London. If there was a piano in the cafe, he could practice when they were closed. He was brought out of his thoughts by Ciri's not so subtle whispering.

“Letho has a grandma? I thought he was hatched. Like a snake.”

_“Ciri!”_

Letho might be giving Jaskier the creeps but even so, he couldn’t help but feel that her comment was unwarranted. Especially given how, in the silence that had followed Letho’s entrance, it was very clearly audible. Unfortunately for him, Lambert disagreed, and fist bumped his niece, earning him a smack from Jaskier.

“Lambert, would you stop encouraging your niece.” Jaskier elbowed Coën who had also snickered at Ciri’s comment.

"Letho, that's very kind of you and I would be very glad to take it off your hands. How much would you like for it? Could we collect it today after closing?"

"Piano's free." Letho nodded, leaving a scrap of paper at the counter with Sabrina. "Here's the address whenever you're ready."

Silence reigned for several long minutes after Letho departed before conversations started up again, giving Jaskier a modicum of privacy.

"What do you have against the man? I mean, I wouldn't call him pleasant, but he didn't seem too bad. He's given me a piano."

"He's bad news, Jask. Stay away from him. Fuck knows how he ended up here. He was in the Corps as well before he was discharged. Dishonourable," Lambert added before Jaskier could speak up. "Vesemir lets him continue using Kaer Morhen to keep an eye on him. He had two close friends in the Corps; Auckes and Serrit. Serrit was killed serving and Letho was discharged not too long after that. Auckes isn't as bad without him but, still, Letho isn't someone I'd want you or Ciri around too often if at all."

"Then it's a good job that you're going to go and collect the piano for me, aren't you."

"Is that right, Buttercup?"

"Yep. I'll make you a batch of whatever is your favourite bake as a thank you."

"I'll give you a hand, Lambert. You can’t shift a piano by yourself and I know of a van we can borrow. I bet Istredd will give us a hand as well. I'll take a cherry and coconut loaf as my payment, Jaskier."

"Noted. I'll bake something for Letho’s grandma as well, if she won't take payment. You can run and grab her a bunch of flowers as well, Ciri."

"Will you play for us later, Jaskier?"

"It would be a pleasure. Just bear in mind that I'll be rusty."

~*~

Once they had collected the piano and delivered it to Wanderlust, Jaskier had driven Coën and Lambert crazy with how fussy he had been over the positioning. He had made the two of them move the piano into a multitude of different positions before finally making his decision. Or rather, Lambert made the decision for Jaskier when he refused to move the piano anymore.

“Look, it can stay here for tomorrow and you can see how it goes. If you’re still not happy, then we’ll move it but I’m not moving that sodding piano again this weekend.”

Jaskier grumbled, mostly just to keep up appearances, and sat down to play a couple of arpeggios and chord progressions. It wasn’t perfectly in tune, but it would be good enough for an open mic night until Jaskier could find a piano tuner to come out and fix it. Once he was familiar with the feel of the ivories under his fingers, Jaskier swung into a song that he had heard Ciri singing around the café, earning him a squeal of delight from the teenager in question. Jaskier grinned as Ciri started to sing along joined, rather surprisingly, by Coën. When he came to the end of the song, Jaskier gave it more of a showy ending than the original artist before bowing with a flourish as he was applauded.

“Jaskier, that was amazing!”

“I agree with Ciri. I know you studied music but, even so, I’m impressed.”

“Why didn’t you go into music, Buttercup? Why open a café?”

Jaskier twiddled around on the piano while he answered Lambert’s question. “The music industry is brutal. Yes, I’m good but being good isn’t enough. There was no guarantee I’d be successful. Besides, I’m good at baking as well and this place is more successful than I thought it would be. I never planned on giving up music, it was always going to be part of my life.”

“Will you play tomorrow? I know you didn’t last time but now we’ve heard you play, you have to!”

“I have to, eh? We’ll see, Ciri. For now though, you all have homes to go to and I have baking to do.”

There were – unsurprisingly – protests from Ciri as Jaskier shooed them out the door but, as Lambert and Ciri retreated to the house in the mews behind Kaer Morhen, he cast a glance back at Wanderlust and saw Jaskier still sat at the piano.

(~*~)

Café Wanderlust closed an hour earlier on open mic nights. Ostensibly, it was to do the handover from café to live venue. In reality, it was so that Jaskier could sneak a thirty-minute power nap while Sabrina, Ciri and Dara closed up and got rid of the detritus. As they left – and Jaskier woke up – Istredd arrived and started set-up for the evening. Jaskier hadn’t made his decision about getting an alcohol licence yet as he wanted a few more nights under his belt but he’d checked out the requirements at least. For the moment, they were sticking with bring your own booze and serving coffee and soft drinks for those who wanted them.

And cake, of course.

On open mic nights, Jaskier took the opportunity to serve different cakes to those sold in Wanderlust day to day. These offerings were more appealing to an adult palate; bakes featuring alcohol. Brownies laced with amaretto. Black forest cake with cherries soaked in kirsch. Gin and tonic traybake squares. An indulgent chocolate cake made heavy with Guinness. Mojito cake. He’d had no shortage of volunteers to taste test and a very giggly, tipsy Triss had had to be carefully shepherded home by Yennefer after appropriating the remaining gin.

That particular couple were the first two through the door, swiftly followed by Coën, Lambert and Ciri. There was no Aiden as he was away on a trip giving a series of guest lectures at another university. There were quite a few regulars from Wanderlust, a handful of Coën’s patrons from Griffin and some complete strangers.

Just as before, it was a huge success.

There were quite a few singers and some of Coën’s regulars recited some poetry, which Yennefer took delight in mocking. Lambert laughed at her commentary and then looked horrified at the fact he had just agreed with her. There was even a performance poet. As a young woman took a seat at the piano, Lambert leaned over to whisper in Jaskier’s ear.

“Eskel would love this.”

“Yeah?” Jaskier hadn’t really heard Lambert talk about his brothers. Ciri, yes. Lambert, no. He was curious as to why that was, but he wasn’t going to probe. Instead, he would just take whatever snippets of information Lambert and Ciri dropped and add them to the mental picture he was building.

“He’s always been the arty one of us. He plays the piano, you know. Geralt is tone deaf and I don’t have a musical bone in my body but Eskel’s good. Especially when you consider that he never had lessons. Vesemir did the best that he could for us but there was never enough money for things like music lessons.”

“Well, hopefully Eskel gets to come to an open mic night here sooner rather than later. He could even perform if he wanted to.”

Lambert hummed, “are you going to perform, Buttercup?”

“Why do you call me that? Buttercup?”

“Because that’s what you are. Sunny and cheerful like a buttercup. There’s another reason, though. Is Jaskier your real name or is it a stage name?”

“Stage name. I chose it when I went to university. My real name is Julian.”

“Jaskier definitely suits you better than Julian. Did you not look it up when you picked it? Jaskier means buttercup in Polish.”

“Huh. I didn’t know that. How do you know Polish?”

“I know many things. And you didn’t answer my question. Are you going to perform?”

“You know what? I think I will.”

Jaskier waited until the very end of the evening and then, when everyone else had performed, he made his way to the little stage area that they had created. However, he avoided the piano, much to the confusion – and exasperation – of Lambert and Coën especially. Instead, he produced an instrument from beside it that none of them had seen before. No, scratch that, they had seen it but it had been on a sodding tapestry in a history textbook.

“So, some of you know that I did a music and business degree at university. Well, I can play the piano, but my specialism is actually medieval music, and this is my favourite lute. And this is a song that I wrote last year.”

Jaskier proceeded to launch into a bawdy song that had the entire audience stomping their feet and clapping along in glee. It had a catchy tune, memorable lyrics and, by the end, quite a few people were singing along with him. Even Yennefer had a slight smile on her face, although she didn’t deign to sing. Jaskier was a consummate performer. They were all used to his friendly manner as he made his way through Wanderlust chatting to patrons, but this was completely different. He was a live wire. Completely electric. The previous evening, he had said that he wasn’t good enough to make it in the music industry. The people watching him disagreed. As far as his friends were concerned, Jaskier could have spearheaded an entirely new genre of music. When his song came to an end, Jaskier was greeted with applause, cheering and cries of ‘encore’, something that he was happy to indulge.

Unbeknownst to Jaskier, Lambert recorded his performance and, when he returned to his room in the little mews house behind Kaer Morhen that hadn’t changed since he was a teenager, he sent it to the group chat he shared with Eskel and Geralt.

He had lived with his brothers for long enough to know what they liked and Jaskier was it. Eskel would be more likely to admit to it, while Geralt would be stubborn about it but cave eventually. Lambert knew that he was probably playing with fire but, well, acting before he thought had always been his problem. And a bit of an issue with anger management. That being said, he just had this gut instinct that Jaskier was perfect for his brothers.

Lambert just hoped that they would get the opportunity to meet Jaskier in person. The fact that his brothers were still out serving without him didn’t sit well with Lambert. More than anything, he wanted to be back out there, watching their backs. He might be the youngest but that didn’t matter. Vesemir had brought them up looking out for each other and that’s what they did. It was because he had been protecting his brothers that he had been discharged. Fighting some homophobic squaddie who had seen something that Lambert had known about since he was a teenager and would do anything to keep secret until Eskel and Geralt were ready to tell him. Then again, that would mean they would actually have to talk about what it was between them. Given how much the men in their family hated talking about their feelings he wasn’t holding out much hope of that happening anytime soon.

Not entirely unselfishly, Jaskier notwithstanding, he hoped that they returned home soon so that Ciri had all of her family around her and to help his own anxiety. There was also the fact that Vesemir wasn’t getting any younger and Kaer Morhen was starting to get a bit run down. He already had some ideas for the place, but it would be better if Eskel and Geralt were with him to help out. Unfortunately for the three of them, Eskel and Geralt were the most honourable men that he knew except for their dad.

It would have to be something major to bring them back before their time was done.

~*~

It was an emotionally drained Lambert that walked into Cafe Wanderlust the Thursday following the open mic night. The previous evening, he had finally told Ciri that he wasn’t going back, that he was home for good, in a very emotional conversation for both of them. There had even been tears from both of them. Just as Jaskier - and Vesemir - had told him, Ciri hadn’t been disappointed that Lambert was leaving the Forces. He glossed over the reason that he was leaving because that was something for Geralt and Eskel to deal with as and when they were ready, but Ciri didn’t seem too bothered by that. Instead, she was simply happy that Lambert was going to be around all the time. And that was where the tears came in, because while she loved her uncle Lambert, he wasn’t Geralt and what she really wanted was her dad there permanently.

And then, just to compound things and make them all even more emotional, Geralt and Eskel had phoned.

His brothers really did have shit timing. Wednesday wasn’t their usual night for phoning which was precisely why Lambert had chosen that evening to speak to Ciri. There was normally a strict schedule for phone calls home from base but, for some reason, there had been an unexpected change in said schedule. Of course, Geralt had seen immediately that Ciri was upset and had started growling like a protective mama wolf and Eskel hadn’t been much better. They had calmed down somewhat when Vesemir had barked at them to relax but it was clear that they wanted to be there in person, not on the other end of a video connection.

What it meant was that Ciri had been incredibly clingy for the whole evening and none of them had slept well. Vesemir had ended up calling Ciri out of school sick and she was now at Aretuza with Triss, who could be comforting in a way that Lambert couldn’t manage. As for Lambert, he had run for miles before ending up back at Kaer Morhen taking his frustration out on a boxing bag. When that hadn’t been enough, Vesemir had stepped in with a set of pads. Now, Lambert fully intended to eat his weight in Jaskier’s cake. Or try, at least.

He was late enough that there was no sign of Cahir, which was fantastic because that guy freaked Lambert out. Apparently, his brownies were amazing but, as far as Lambert was concerned, Cahir was way too intense and he was sure that he had seen him talking to an oven. And in a creepy way, not in Jaskier’s endearing way. So, he was grateful to see that it was Sabrina behind the counter. 

Lambert placed his order and, as Sabrina handed over his coffee, turned to try and spot Jaskier. It took him a matter of seconds and then Lambert was choking on his coffee. Jaskier was stood talking to Coën which wasn’t exactly unusual. What was unusual was the strange man sat with Coën. The man was gorgeous. Like model gorgeous. He looked like he belonged on one of those Instagram accounts that took stealth photos of hot guys on the Tube. Broad-shouldered and beardy in a long-sleeved shirt that clung to his body. Lambert walked over at Coën’s wave. 

“Lambert, this is my friend Aiden. He’s a professor of archaeology at the university. He’s been away giving a series of guest lectures otherwise you’d have met him before now. Aiden, Lambert’s Ciri’s uncle and Vesemir’s son. He’s just got out of the Army and is working at Kaer Morhen.”

“Nice to meet you, Lambert.”

Lambert thought he responded in kind. At least he hoped he had. To be perfectly honest, he was more than a little distracted by Aiden. The man had stood up to greet Lambert and he had thick thighs clad in clinging denim. Nice hands as well. Big hands that felt good when they shook hands.

At that point, Sabrina called out that Lambert’s order was ready and he turned to collect it, hopefully saving himself from future embarrassment. Only to trip over something. He didn’t even know what it was. Hell, it could have been mid-air for all Lambert knew but what he did know was that he tripped, flailed like an idiot and landed on his arse.

To add insult to injury, Lambert’s coffee landed all over him.

Oh yeah, he was hot for teacher. Professor. Whatever. And he’d just made a dick of himself. If Geralt and Eskel found out about this, he was never going to hear the end of it. If he had his way, they would only hear of it over his dead body. Unluckily for him, Jaskier was probably going to grass him up to Ciri.

~*~

This was it. Lambert was in his own personal hell. Only, it wasn’t a warzone but Cintra. Fucking Cintra. The same club that was down the street from Kaer Morhen.

He’d been visiting this club ever since he was too young to actually do so and the bouncers had looked the other way as he lied about his age, but Lambert had been in no doubt that Mousesack would drag him home to Vesemir by his ear if he tried to drink underage. He had had many conquests here (and nearly as many fails). Why was it now more tortuous than when he had been a cocky teenager?

Aiden.

That was why.

Coën’s stupidly attractive professor friend. The very same one that Lambert had made a fool of himself in front of not two days ago. And then again today when the man had come into Kaer Morhen.

_***FLASHBACK***_

Lambert made mental notes as he wandered around Kaer Morhen, replacing equipment and wiping down machines. Now that he was officially out of the Forces, he had big plans for this place. Well, he had bigger plans, but they would require help from his brothers so would have to wait for a while. He knew that their dad did his best with the place, but he didn’t think Vesemir had changed anything since Lambert had left for basic training and it showed. Everything was clearly well cared for but just a little dilapidated. 

Kaer Morhen still had a client base but it wasn’t making the profit that it could do. Lambert wanted to explore options that would bring in more money without alienating their current client base or annoying Vesemir. Then again, if arseholes like Letho never came back, that was only a good thing. What Lambert was hoping was that they could pick up some of the customers who frequented Wanderlust and Aretuza. He was just in the process of re-racking some of the free weights that had been left out or put in the wrong place when the door opened and Coën came in.

“Morning, Lambert!”

“Morning, Co-ën,” Lambert looked up halfway through saying Coën’s name and strangled the second half of it as he saw a built god walk in behind the bookseller. All broad shoulders, ripped biceps and mouth-watering forearms.

And when Lambert realised that said god was the hot professor in gym gear? Well, the 8kg dumbbell he was holding fell from his suddenly limp hands and made contact with Lambert’s left foot.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck!”

Apparently, Lambert could make a bigger fool of himself in front of a hot guy than he had in Wanderlust.

_***END FLASHBACK***_

Why had Lambert thought coming clubbing was a good idea? Oh yes, Jaskier had looked at him with that ridiculous expression and Lambert had caved almost as quickly as Geralt when Ciri looked at him with big eyes on Christmas Eve and asked for just one present. He could see why Yennefer called him puppy. And then, of course, Triss had joined in. He had been ready to refuse but then Ciri, the traitor, had mentioned it to his dad and even Vesemir had joined in, stating how Lambert deserved a night out for all he had been doing at Kaer Morhen.

That had somehow translated to Ciri going through his wardrobe and picking clothes for him to wear and sitting there, badgering him into putting on eyeliner for the first time in years and criticising his technique as though he hadn’t been the person to teach her how to do this. He couldn’t really complain about her choices though considering he looked good, all of his best assets shown off to perfection.

He had been looking forward to it but now? This was just excruciating.

On the dancefloor, Triss and Yennefer were wrapped around each other with moves that looked more like vertical sex than dancing and made even more impressive given the vertiginous heels they were both wearing. Coën was doing some awkward as hell attempt at dancing while Jaskier was surprisingly competent and drawing more than a few appreciative glances. None of them could hold a candle to Aiden though who moved like pure sin. He was drawing even more appreciative looks than Jaskier and, even if Lambert hadn’t made a tit of himself - twice - so out of Lambert’s league.

“Why are you moping here rather than dancing with Aiden?” Jaskier had somehow materialised in front of Lambert.

“Why would I be dancing with Aiden? He’s got his pick of dance partners.”

“And that’s why he keeps looking over here, is it? Looking at you.”

“You’re talking rubbish, buttercup.”

“I’m not but I can’t help it if you don’t believe me. Come and dance with me instead, if you won’t dance with Aiden.”

“You’re going to bitch at me until I move, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Jaskier gave a wicked smirk, “and if you still refuse then I will walk over to Kaer Morhen tomorrow and sic Ciri on you.”

“Did you know that in addition to being sunny and cheerful, buttercups are also toxic and poisonous?” Lambert dug his heels in as he registered the song, “are you seriously making me dance to Adam Lambert?”

“Stop bitching and move your hips.” 

Lambert rolled his eyes but did as he was told. He hadn’t lied to Jaskier when he said that he didn’t have a musical bone in his body, but he did have rhythm. And he liked dancing. It had been too long since he had had the opportunity to dance. Lambert closed his eyes and let himself get lost in the music.

As the beat changed, Lambert opened eyes that he wasn’t aware had drifted close to see Jaskier smiling at him. But, if Jaskier was over there, who was he dancing with? Lambert tilted his head to see that the hands on his hips, the body pressed against his from shoulder to knees, belonged to the hot professor himself.

“Hello kitten. I thought you were ignoring me.”

Lambert bit back a moan as one of Aiden’s hands slid around to his stomach, pulling him further back into the heat of Aiden’s body. He sent a glare at Jaskier but knew it was weak and received a devious smirk in reply.

Oh yes, Jaskier was the perfect match for Lambert’s brothers.


	4. I Will Try To Harmonise

Eskel couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as he was guided off the plane and onto the tarmac to see Lambert waiting for him. He didn’t care that there were any number of people around them, he just walked straight into Lambert’s embrace.

The second that he felt Lambert’s arms wrap around him, it was almost as though he could breathe easier. He still didn’t know what day it was or what time it was, but at least Lambert was here. He pulled back a scant few inches so that he could see Lambert properly through his good eye.

“How the fuck did you manage this? I wasn’t expecting to see you until the hospital at the earliest.”

“Vesemir pulled some strings. There was no way we were leaving you alone for longer than necessary.”

“Ciri?”

“At Wanderlust with Buttercup. We didn’t bring her because we weren’t sure what kind of shape you were in. There was no point in her going to school, she’d have done fuck all. Buttercup promised her tasting privileges on his new bakes while the café’s open. There were also mutterings about blanket forts and introducing her to classic movies tonight. Apparently, her education is lacking.”

“Ciri’s watched Lord of the Rings. The extended editions as well. They’re classics.”

“Preaching to the converted. You know that. I know that. Even fucking Geralt knows that. But, according to Buttercup, our parenting – uncleing - is lacking because Ciri has never seen The Princess Bride.”

“Huh. Who’s Buttercup again? Why isn’t she with dad?”

“Because I’m here.” Eskel turned and before he had a chance to register the sight, was wrapped in a familiar hug. One that completely enveloped him, even if Eskel had been taller than Vesemir since he was 18. And then there was the equally familiar cuff to the back of his head. Gentler than normal to take his injuries into account. “What the fuck were you thinking, pup? I thought I taught you better than this.”

Vesemir wasn’t wrong. A former Royal Marine himself, and then a trainer, he had taught his boys all he knew. It was thanks to him pulling strings with General Vizimir and Lieutenant Colonel Calanthe that Lambert, Eskel and Geralt had been permitted to serve together. That kind of thing didn’t happen all that much anymore. Hadn’t really since World War One when the Pal’s Army had seen entire streets – hell, entire villages – decimated. Luckily for the three of them, Calanthe might be a bitch but she knew that the three of them would work far better if they were together than if they were separated.

“I didn’t exactly have a choice. It was a checkpoint and there was a suicide bomber. The children were on their way home from school. There was a little girl. She reminded me of Ciri when she that age, cheeky grin, missing tooth and all. What was I going to do?”

“What were you going to do?”

All three of them turned at the sound of a throat being gently cleared and turned to see a young private stood there. “Sorry Captain, the transport is ready to go to the hospital.”

Eskel hesitated, not quite ready to be separated from his father and brother just yet, even if it was just for the journey to the hospital. It was no more than a fraction of a second, but Lambert saw it.

“I’m sure the private can find a seat in the transport for me as well. Dad can take the truck and meet us there.”

The private hemmed and hawed before being levelled with a look from Lambert and uttered a quiet “yes, Sir.”

Eskel allowed himself to be herded to the transport, already nearly full of the rest of the walking wounded from the flight, Lambert collapsing into the seat next to him.

“I’m going to let Ciri and Buttercup know we’re with you. I’ll drop Geralt a message as well; he’s probably out of his mind with worry right now. Why don’t you try and get some kip?”

Eskel merely hummed at him, already starting to drift off. Just having Lambert by his side, being able to feel his presence, was relaxing him more than the strongest painkillers the medics had given him.

That relaxed feeling didn’t last long once they got to the hospital.

Eskel hated being in hospitals, as did Lambert and Geralt. They were too overwhelming, even with their training. Too many sounds and smells, too many people, too chaotic. In the field, doing their jobs, they could focus on what was at hand and block everything else out other than what they needed to do. Here, it wasn’t quite that simple.

It didn’t help that it had been a brutal journey.

Eskel had been taken from the scene of his injury to Camp Bastion where they had done the basic field medicine and ensured that he wouldn’t lose his eye. From there, they had taken him to Landstuhl in Germany where he had received more treatment before being transferred back to the UK. Now, he was at Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham, the foremost hospital for treating injured servicemen. They had been given all of the information and details on his treatment so far, but that didn’t stop them from putting him through a barrage of tests. Some of them, Lambert and Vesemir were allowed to accompany him but others he had to endure alone. He stoically sat through all of the probing and the prodding. The needles and the endless questions with as much grace and patience as he could. Considering that he had lived through Lambert’s teenage years, that was a lot, but it was draining. By the end, he was exhausted, wrung out and he just wanted it to be over. His brain felt like a fog as they were finally herded into the consultants office for the final verdict. Eskel tuned the man out almost as soon as he started to speak.

Lingering effects of serious concussion. Severe damage to the right side of his face that would – inevitably – lead to heavy scarring. Damage to the nerves in his cheek. Shrapnel injuries to his chest and upper body, some more major than others. Some loss of peripheral vision. Lucky that he hadn’t lost the eye. It all meant one thing; medical discharge.

It wasn’t exactly how he had planned to leave the Royal Marines.

As far as Eskel was concerned, he was a lifer, a career soldier. It had been the only career that he had ever considered. The only career that an of them had considered, irrespective of Vesemir’s cautionary tales. He’d never really thought about leaving and definitely not when it wasn’t on his own terms. The only positive was Ciri but then, as much as he wanted to see her, he didn’t want her to see him broken. And, of course, Ciri then brought Geralt to the forefront of his thoughts.

Geralt, who was now all by himself in a war zone. Geralt, who Eskel hadn’t chosen to be apart from for the best part of two decades. Geralt, who had been Eskel’s everything for the best part of three decades. That was it. Eskel’s breaking point. He shut down and simply trusted his brother and father to take care of everything.

~*~

That didn’t change once they returned home from the hospital. Even surrounded by the familiarity of the home he had spent the majority of his childhood in and had with his family around him, Eskel remained closed off. He accepted Ciri’s hug but didn’t return it. Instead, he simply vanished into his room and didn’t emerge. Not for Vesemir’s growling, Lambert’s threats and Ciri’s tearful pleading. Ignoring all of them, he buried himself in an old hoody of Geralt’s that he had found in the back of the wardrobe and crawled into bed. He had no intention of moving except for taking care of his injuries, using the bathroom and eating.

Eskel couldn’t understand why his family wouldn’t leave him alone to mourn in peace. Why were they so insistent on seeing him? Why should they want to? He had failed and he was damaged.

He was even ignoring Geralt, although that was more guilt than anything else. Ironic really, given the way that Geralt was blowing up his phone with missed calls, voicemails, texts and emails; the usually taciturn man suddenly desperate to talk.

Eskel couldn’t help but feel that he had failed Geralt by getting injured enough to be medically discharged. He had failed by leaving Geralt behind with no-one to watch his back and for what? Eskel didn’t even know if his actions had saved the girl or if it had all been for nothing. He knew that he could ask Geralt, but he wouldn’t put it past Geralt to lie to him and Eskel didn’t want to hear platitudes. Face to face, Eskel would know if Geralt was lying but it was harder over a phone line or in an email.

He could hear them – Lambert, Ciri and Vesemir – going about their lives. They tried to interact with him. Lambert would check on him in the morning, shouting through the door to ensure that Eskel was still alive and leaving his breakfast and medication on the floor outside the door. Vesemir would bring lunch and bitch about Lambert wanting to change things at Kaer Morhen that weren’t broken. Ciri brought dinner and sat chatting about her day, Dara and her job at Café Wanderlust, which inevitably led to a lot of talk about Jaskier. He never responded but still they continued. He could hear the concerned mutterings of his father and brother late into the night, even if he couldn’t hear specific words. Could hear the tears in Ciri’s voice as she asked why her Uncle Eskel didn’t want to see her. More than anything, he wanted to open the door and reassure her that he wanted to see her more than anything, but he was afraid that she would recoil if she saw his face without the bandages that he had been wearing when he returned home.

He lasted a week before Lambert kicked his door in.

Literally.

“Right, I’ve had enough of this bollocks. You’re coming with me and Vesemir.”

Eskel struggled but Lambert’s grip was like a vice as he started to drag Eskel out of his room and through the house. “NO! My face … I don’t want Ciri to see.”

“I’ve sent her to Buttercup’s. She’ll stay with him at Wanderlust for the night and come back after her shift tomorrow.”

Eskel struggled less at that, only to start again as they approached the front door. “What? No. Why are we going outside?”

“We’re going to Kaer Morhen. It’s shut for the night so no-one else is there, but we need to sort this out. You can’t go on like this any longer. At least you look like you’ve been taking care of your injuries.”

“’m not stupid.”

“Never said you were. I’ll start if you don’t pull your head out of your arse.”

Despite his reluctance to be out, Eskel couldn’t help but be curious at the changes Lambert had started to make in Kaer Morhen. Everything was looking a little tidier, a little cleaner and there were a few flyers for personal training on the counter. He didn’t get a chance to look at anything else before a set of wraps and boxing gloves hit him in the face. His gloves and wraps.

“Put ‘em on.”

Eskel did as he was told, noticing that Lambert was pulling on his own set of gloves over his wraps. The second that Eskel had his gloves on, Lambert was on him, darting around jabbing at him. Goading him. Lambert never stayed in the same place, deliberately moving to his left which took him onto Eskel’s bad side and earning him an irritated growl. Still, he kept niggling and irritating until Eskel gave a snarl and swung back, making contact with Lambert’s stomach.

“What the fuck are we doing, Lambert? Why are you making me do this?”

“You think I haven’t been where you are now? You think I didn’t feel like a complete failure when I got discharged? Hell, at least you had a medical discharge.”

Lambert wasn’t pulling his punches in the slightest and Eskel found that he was grateful for it. He knew that Lambert could take whatever he dished out in his rage.

“Yeah? Well you weren’t fucking broken.”

Lambert stopped and got a sucker punch to the chest, never mind the impact of Eskel’s words. “Is that what you think? Seriously? You’re broken?”

Eskel swung again and Lambert finally started moving his feet again, if only to avoid being punched in the head. “Is that why you’re fucking hiding in your room and avoiding us? Geralt’s ready to sodding swim and hitch hike back home if you don’t start talking.”

“I don’t want to talk. Talking won’t bloody change anything. What good is talking going to do when I’m useless?” Eskel started throwing rapid punches, falling back into the familiar movements and making Lambert work.

“Useless? Yeah right. Even recovering and with a bum eye you’re one of the best boxers I’ve ever known but if you want to bitch and moan, then go ahead. I’m going to make you work while you do it though.”

When Eskel was panting and drained from both the physical exercise and the talking, Lambert pulled his phone out and dialled a number. “You’re not broken, Eskel, you’re so far from fucking broken but I get it. It’s going to take time to understand that but don’t shut us out. You, me, Ciri, Geralt, dad; we’re pack and we work best together. Lean on us and we can help you. Now, for the love of Melitele, if you won’t believe me, maybe you’ll believe him, so I don’t have to talk about fucking feelings again.” He held the phone out to Eskel as the call connected, “Talk.”

Eskel put the phone to his ear and felt the last bit of tension slip from him as the sound of that oh so familiar, oh so beloved voice filled his ears.

_“Eskel.”_

“Geralt.”

(~*~)

To say that Jaskier was surprised when, less than ninety minutes after he’d bidden farewell to her, Ciri reappeared at the door of Wanderlust especially considering that she had a bag slung over her shoulder. What was even more concerning was the way that her eyes were red and teary. Again. It had been happening more and more in the last week or so and Ciri was spending a huge amount of time at Wanderlust, even if it was just sitting in the kitchen as Jaskier baked or listening to him practice piano while she did her homework. He wasn’t ignorant to the fact that all of this had started when her Uncle Eskel had returned home but, until now, he hadn’t felt as though he could pry.

“Ciri? Is everything okay?”

“Do you mind if I stay here tonight? Uncle Lambert said he sent you a message. If it’s a problem, I can always see if I can stay with Dara. Or Triss and Yennefer?”

“They’re at Cintra for the night; Saturday night is date night and all that jazz. And of course, you can stay. Let me see what Lambert said.” Jaskier fished his phone out of his pocket just as Ciri spoke.

“It’s something to do with Uncle Eskel. He’s avoiding me. He’s avoiding everyone.”

“Ah.” Jaskier checked his phone and read the message from Lambert, quickly realising what was going on. “Well, you’re more than welcome here. Anytime, any day. I have some bakes to finish for tomorrow, but then what do you say to us ordering too much pizza from Temeria and watching movies until we fall asleep?”

“Can we watch that one you were talking about?”

“Clueless? Absolutely. You feel up to wielding some oven gloves?”

“Always.”

With the Sunday bakes out of the oven and cooling ready to be decorated, and with a truly obscene amount of pizza awaiting them, Jaskier put the film on and waited for Ciri to talk. He didn’t have to wait too long. Before Tai had appeared on screen, Ciri had lost her battle with her tears.

“It’s not fair. I got Uncle Lambert back and he was weird. Now Uncle Eskel is back and he won’t come out of his room, won’t talk to us. I hugged him when he got back from the hospital and he wouldn’t hug me back. He’s never done that before. Ever.”

Jaskier’s heart went out to his favourite employee and, when she leant into him, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her in a tight hug. That set her off even more and Jaskier rocked her from side to side, humming under his breath until she calmed enough to articulate herself a little more, sniffing and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Why do you think Uncle Eskel is ignoring us? Is this like Uncle Lambert being an idiot and thinking that I’d be disappointed with him for leaving the Army? Does Uncle Eskel think I’m going to be afraid of him because he’s got scars? Or that I’ll think less of him because he got injured?”

“It’s entirely possible. I mean, I haven’t met Eskel yet, but I’ve heard a lot about him from you and Lambert. Your uncles and your papa are very proud men. That’s the way that your grandpa raised them and it’s not a bad thing. However, I think it affects their sense of self-worth. They don’t want to be seen as weak. Especially not by you.”

“But that doesn’t make sense.”

“Humans rarely do, trouble.

“But I don’t think that. He’s still Uncle Eskel.”

“You know that. I know that. Your Uncle Lambert knows that now. Deep down, so does your Uncle Eskel. It just isn’t that easy for him to accept it. Your Uncle Lambert and Grandpa will sort him out, though.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“Thanks, Jas.”

“Anything for my favourite employee.”

Ciri gave a watery giggle and reached for the now slightly cold pizza, stuffing a prodigious amount in her mouth. As Cher and her friends went to the party in the Valley on screen, Ciri asked the question that Jaskier had been hoping she wouldn’t ask but knew she would.

“What about your family, Jas?”

Jaskier took a large bite of pizza, so much so that his cheeks bulged like a chipmunk momentarily. Anything to avoid talking about his family. Ciri simply waited until he had swallowed and then fixed him with a stare until he huffed.

“What about them?”

“Why don’t you talk about them? I talk about my family all the time, but you don’t. Are they still alive?”

“Yes, they’re still alive. Not all families are like yours, my little cub. You have a fierce wolf pack around you, ready to do whatever is necessary to make you happy. Even if that ends up being a little misguided like your Uncle Eskel. My family isn’t like that. My blood family, at least.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Sometimes the family that you find for yourself is more your family than the one you were born into. Café Wanderlust is my family, Ciri. You, Triss, Yennefer, Coën, Aiden, Lambert. Vesemir. I have no doubt your uncle Eskel will be included when I finally meet him. My friend Essi from uni. They’re my family.”

“What about your blood family then?”

“My father doesn’t approve of my life choices. Everything I do is a disappointment to him, and it’s been like that since I was a small child. The fact that his son owns a coffee shop, even a successful one? The ultimate humiliation. If he had his way, I’d be hidden in the city working for some hedge fund or something similar.”

“But…”

“I lied about my degree for three years, Ciri. My father thought I was completing a business degree but, in actuality, it was a Music and Enterprise degree. I wasn’t exactly trying to hide it, but my father didn’t find out until my graduation ceremony.”

“But…”

“The Earl of Lettenhove didn’t agree with anything that went against the status quo and while my mother loves me, she won’t take an opposing position to her husband in public.”

“The Earl…”

“Yep. My father is the current Earl of Lettenhove. Believe it or not, I’m actually aristocracy.”

“What does that matter? Aristocracy or not, your family sucks.”

“Preaching to the choir, kid.”

“You can be part of the Kaer Morhen wolf pack. You said that we’re your family, so we’ll be yours.”

Jaskier slung his arm around Ciri’s shoulders and dragged her closer for a one-armed hug. “Best family ever.”

(~*~)

The following morning, feeling more than a little battered, Eskel took a shower and applied the creams to his wounds, before retreating back to his bedroom and dressing in something other than sweatpants for the first time in a week. At the last minute, he picked up an old deep red hoody that was easy enough to flip up and shadow his face. Eskel then took several large deep breaths and opened the door to his bedroom, following the muted sounds of talking to the kitchen. There, he found Lambert and his dad tucking into huge bacon and fried egg sandwiches; the only food cooked in Kaer Morhen that any of them could cook well and with flavour.

Lambert’s method of therapy the previous evening had helped. Speaking to Geralt had helped even more, especially when he had disclosed that the little girl Eskel had been trying to save in the explosion was fine and completely unharmed. Talking to Geralt settled something in Eskel but he couldn’t help but be concerned by the strain that he could hear at the edges of Geralt’s voice. Strain that hadn’t been there before the explosion. Strain that he had caused. Eskel felt better knowing that the girl had survived but was still struggling with the untethered feeling that came from no longer being a serving Marine. From the fact that he was causing stress for Geralt. Still, he had promised Geralt that he wouldn’t lock himself away from the family and he hadn’t broken a promise to Geralt yet.

He wasn't entirely surprised when they started pushing him out of the door as soon as he had finished eating and, though he was reluctant, he let them. As he had predicted, they led him towards Café Wanderlust and he could see Ciri standing behind the counter, her shirt a riot of pastel coloured skulls and the tips of her hair dyed to match. Lambert only gave Eskel time to check his hood was flipped up before he propelled them forward and pushed open the door.

“Welcome to Café Wanderlust, what can I…” Ciri looked up and never finished her greeting.

Eskel was dismayed to see Ciri burst into tears as the mug she was holding fell to the floor and smashed into pieces as she saw him. He started to try and back up, go back to Kaer Morhen, but the solid bulk of Vesemir was blocking the doorway letting him go nowhere. Before he could try and protest, he had a Ciri-shaped limpet attached to his chest, the ghost of a kiss brushing over his injured cheek.

“If you do that to me again, I’m going to punch you. And you taught me how to throw a punch, Uncle Eskel.”

“Noted, cub.” Eskel breathed in that scent that was pure Ciri and thanked Melitele that they had done something right when they had raised her. He focused on Ciri rather than the other people in the café as Vesemir and Lambert shuffled them over to a table that was slightly out of the way.

“Let me guess, you also have no idea what cake you like because you only eat food for its nutritional content rather than enjoyment or comfort.”

Eskel looked up into the prettiest pair of blue eyes that he had ever seen.

It was like a punch in the gut.

Eskel knew exactly what Lambert had been doing when he had sent that video of Jaskier performing. He also knew that it had been directed at both himself and Geralt. It had worked; both of them had been intrigued by the man that Lambert called Buttercup. Especially when they realised that this same man was their beloved Ciri’s employer, someone that they had heard about an inordinate amount.

Now Buttercup – Jaskier – was in front of him and it felt like a personal attack.

It was the first time that Eskel had felt lust – anything – for someone other than Geralt. It was a surreal sensation. Especially given that, physically, Jaskier was the complete opposite of Geralt. He was probably of a height with Eskel, maybe an inch or so shorter, and while he wasn’t exactly slight, he wasn’t as built as them. Not quite as bulky. His hair was long and the complete opposite of their regulation Marine haircuts. Eskel wanted to see if it was as soft as it looked. Jaskier wasn’t just the physical opposite either. For all that Eskel loved him, 95% of the time Geralt was as communicative as a brick wall. Hell, Eskel was pretty certain that he had met brick walls that were more communicative than Geralt. He’d simply got used to reading him over the years. Watching Jaskier with his customers, with Lambert and Ciri, he could see that the man’s emotions were written all over his face. He hadn’t batted an eyelid at Eskel’s face either. Interesting.

“Well? Cake? Yes or no?”

Eskel’s throat felt dryer than the Sahara but he managed to look up into Jaskier’s pretty blue eyes and say “chocolate?”, his voice cracking in the middle like a hormonal teenager.

Opposite him, Lambert was all but writhing in his seat he was laughing that much and Eskel viciously wished that he pissed himself, the bastard. Eskel shifted ever so slightly in his seat as he watched Jaskier bend to get something out of one of the display cabinets and his jeans felt uncomfortably tight. Next to him, Ciri looked at him in concern,

“Uncle Eskel, is Uncle Lambert okay? Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine, cub.” Just as soon as he could get out of here and back to the safety of his room.

~*~

Eskel had known from the beginning that his therapist was slightly unusual but, well, she had come highly recommended by an old medic friend of Vesemir’s, Milo Vanderbeck, so he had gone along with it. Shani, Eskel’s therapist, had been a protégé of Vanderbeck’s and had a somewhat unorthodox way of working. Eskel had been dubious about going to therapy but had done it anyway. He hadn’t really known what to do with some of the things that Shani suggested, and he was never going to be comfortable talking about his feelings, but he felt like it was helping at least a little bit. That and boxing with Lambert. At least with Lambert he got to punch things, rather than talk.

As a result of Shani’s slightly unusual methods, Eskel wasn’t entirely surprised when he arrived for his appointment one day and found Shani waiting for him outside her office. She didn’t give him the opportunity to get out of the car, merely slid into the passenger seat and told him to drive. They didn’t talk for the rest of the journey with the exception of Shani giving directions and Eskel was more than a little confused when they ended up at what looked like a farm on the outskirts of the town.

“Why are we at a farm? What has this got to do with my therapy sessions?”

“What have you heard about Animal Assisted Therapy?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Isn’t that some kind of bullshit that they do in the States?”

“When, precisely, did you get your medical degree, Captain? It’s not bullshit. There are studies and research that prove animal assisted therapy helps in cases of PTSD, particularly that sustained in a military context.”

“I don’t have PTSD.”

“Eskel, we have been working on this. Yes, you do. I may not share anything that you say, but I am in contact with Vesemir and Lambert. I know you still have nightmares. That you’re still struggling interacting with Ciri and I can’t help but think that it’s over misplaced guilt with the little girl and what happened.”

“So, what? I’m going to come and pet an animal, and everything will be okay?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve come to pick the animal that you’ll be taking home with you.”

Eskel choked so hard that he stalled the car. “Take home with me? Home to Kaer Morhen? An animal?”

“What about this is so hard to comprehend?”

“Have you met my dad? The same man who never allowed us to have a pet dog when we were kids?”

“Vesemir has given his full support for my suggestion.”

“Of course he fucking has. Come on then, let’s get this farce over and done with.”

As they wandered around, Eskel couldn’t help but be surprised by what he saw. The dogs and cats he had expected, maybe even the horses. But the pigs, rabbits and goats? He had not been expecting those but, then again, each to their own he supposed. Horses were out of the question, pigs belonged in sandwiches and Lambert would laugh him back to the Middle East if he turned up with a rabbit.

Of course, because this was Eskel, it ended up not quite as planned.

He had been prepared for a dog or a cat. Either of those would fit in with the wolves of Kaer Morhen. There were even a couple of dogs that he liked the look of and that seemed to like him. He’d always quite liked the idea of a dog, particularly if it was one of those dogs that looked more like a wolf or a bear. The problem was, there was a goat that liked him even more.

And not a normal goat, but a miniature one.

It was rather cute and Eskel had always had a soft spot for small, cute creatures – Geralt was an exception – and he had stooped to scratch it behind the ears, chuckling and feeling the wounds on his cheek pull as it bleated happily.

That was his mistake.

The goat followed him around the entire farm, headbutting his calves and begging for attention any time that he stopped. Unlike the dogs and the cats who were very much willing to wait until Eskel came to them and gave them any affection, the goat was shameless. It knew what it wanted and who it wanted from. Eskel received no peace for the entire trip. It was as though the goat had decided that Eskel belonged to him and that was the end of the subject.

The goat even went as far as headbutting one of the dogs out of the way.

It was at that point that Eskel decided to give up and simply accept that the goat was the animal for him. It reminded him a little of Lambert. Angry and annoying. Only a rather small goat version.

He named it Lil’ Bleater.

Lambert nearly pissed himself laughing when Eskel got back to Kaer Morhen.

~*~

Eskel and Lil' Bleater became quite the familiar double act around the local area. 

They made a couple of visits to Griffin Books that came to a sudden halt when Lil' Bleater decided to try and eat several books of poetry she had seemingly taken a dislike to. Eskel had been mortified but Coën had waved off his apologies, stating that it simply showed Lil’ Bleater had good taste in bad poetry.

She became a sensation in Kaer Morhen after a run-in with Letho.

Ever since his run-in with Lambert, Letho had done everything he could to time his workouts so that he could avoid running into Lambert at Kaer Morhen. Most of the time he was successful. On this occasion, he had managed to turn up not just when Lambert was there working with one of his clients but when Eskel was boxing with Coën. Letho being Letho – and generally a bit of a dick – he made an audible comment about how he might have to find a new gym as he didn’t trust somewhere where one of the owners was a cripple and the other had anger management issues. Before either Lambert or Eskel could punch him in the face, Letho was crumpling to the floor and howling in pain as he clutched at his groin. None of them were quite sure how a goat could look smug, but Lil’ Bleater managed it as Eskel scooped her up and rewarded her with head scritches.

Outside of Kaer Morhen, they were most frequently seen in Wanderlust. Jaskier adored Lil' Bleater and even went so far as consulting with the owners of the farm to create something suitable for her palate. Whenever they came in - which was most days - Jaskier made sure that not only were their favourites on the menu, but that their preferred table was kept clear. While Lambert's table was underneath the painting of the red welly boots, Eskel had picked a table near the piano. He hadn’t started at that table, but had drawn ever closer, as though the instrument was luring him in. He hadn’t made it quite as far as playing it yet.

It was tempting though.

Almost as tempting as Jaskier himself.

The more time that Eskel spent around Jaskier, the more tempted he became. He couldn’t help but be drawn in. it was almost as though Jaskier and Café Wanderlust were the sun and they were all orbiting around him. He had voiced that thought to Coën, who had looked at him speculatively before telling Eskel that it was rather poetic and he agreed completely.

Eskel liked Coën. Eskel hadn’t met him before. He didn’t even know how long Griffin Books had been open. They didn’t always get a huge amount of time on leave and all of them simply wanted to spend as much time with Ciri as possible, so they didn’t tend to interact much with the other business owners. The bookseller was perhaps a little too prim and proper – not like Eskel’s bawdy family – but it was nice to have someone to discuss things like poetry and books with, things that he couldn’t discuss with Lambert or Geralt. Eskel had also started to teach Coën to box, which he was enjoying far more than he had expected and which gave him a sense of purpose. When he had quietly mentioned that to Vesemir, he had clapped Eskel on the shoulder and said that he had better speak to Lambert about his plans.

It was Coën – and Triss – who called Eskel on his interest in Jaskier. Eskel wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Triss. She seemed incredibly sweet and personable but there had to be more to her than that considering she was dating Yennefer. Now, there was somebody that Eskel actively disliked. He had done ever since she and Geralt had dated briefly six years prior. Eskel was man enough to admit that it was jealousy and had been considerate enough to Geralt to say ‘I told you so’ only once when they broke up. Fair play, it had been a clusterfuck of a relationship on both sides, but he stood by his belief that anyone who dated Yennefer Vengerberg had a spine of steel.

“He’s single, you know. And bisexual.”

“Huh?” Eskel jolted at the sound of Triss’ voice directed at him.

“You were staring at our illustrious baker,” Coën replied and Eskel realised that he had been staring at where Jaskier was having an animated conversation with the server – Istredd? Or, rather, Jaskier was animated, all hand gestures and excited flailing while Istredd was impassive.

“Sorry, we just assumed and jumped to conclusions. Are you … do you?”

Eskel decided to take pity on Triss. She deserved something for being with Yennefer. “I’m gay.”

“Oh, thank fuck. Sorry, the sexuality question is always tricky and I didn’t want to overstep.”

“It’s fine. Just not something I usually get asked. People tend to take one look at me, hear I’m a Marine and assume I’m straight. Even more now, I guess.”

“You’d make a good match, I think.”

“Are you a bookseller or a matchmaker, Coën?”

“No, I agree with Coën. And Jaskier thinks you’re hot. Ciri said he was speechless when she showed him a photo of you guys. He thinks she didn’t notice.”

Eskel grunted and stuffed his mouth full of food because that little bit of information added a completely new dimension to things. He tried not to think about the fact that that photo would have been taken before the explosion.

“Have we overstepped again? Are you in a relationship? Seeing someone?”

And there was the million-dollar question. The elephant in the room. 

Geralt.

Although given that no one knew of their relationship – if it could even be called a relationship - did that make him an invisible elephant? Eskel opted for a tried and tested favourite.

“It’s complicated,” and hoped that Triss and Coën would leave it at that.

There had never been words that sufficiently explained what lay between Eskel and Geralt. Well, perhaps there were words, they had simply avoided using them. They had never properly sat down and discussed what occurred between them; it simply happened. They had been brought up together and referred to each other as brothers - at least for a couple of years - but they were very aware that they were not blood related. They had been more than that for nearly half their lives. Their relationship to each other was very different to the one that they shared with Lambert, which was very much fraternal.

It had all started with a kiss. Something so simple yet not. Two teenage boys curious about their sexuality and wanting to experiment with the only other person that they truly trusted. It had grown from there. They had been each other’s first kiss. First handjob. First blowjob. First time having sex. It had been good, as far as first-time sex ever was and they simply hadn't stopped, slipping into each other’s beds when they could. Bathrooms, alleys, cars, hotel rooms even the back of the mess hall when they couldn't. It was taken for granted that they didn't speak of it to other people.

The problem was, they had never stopped to define things at any point and somewhere along the way, fool that he was, Eskel had fallen in love.

For all that they had tried to keep things private, Eskel was pretty sure that Lambert knew what was going on. And Vesemir definitely knew that his two oldest foster sons didn’t hold simply fraternal feelings for each other. Their dad was far from stupid, especially where his sons were concerned. As for Lambert, well, he had always had issues with anger but the incident that he had been discharged for? That was uncharacteristic. There were very few things that would make Lambert lose his temper like he had and one of them was family. Eskel knew that it was highly possible that he and Geralt hadn’t been as discrete as they thought, and someone had seen them together. Said someone had probably decided to shoot their mouth off in the vicinity of Lambert and he had dealt with them as he saw fit.

Eskel wanted to talk about it, wanted to know if what he suspected was the truth. Wanted to let Lambert know just how much his sacrifice was appreciated. However, he didn’t know how to do that without giving away his fear that Lambert had sacrificed his career for something that didn’t exist. When they were together, when he was with Geralt, it didn’t matter so much that they hadn’t defined things with words. With thousands of miles between them, it was harder for Eskel to have faith. Until now, until the possibility of Jaskier, Eskel had been faithful to Geralt. Had never even looked at anybody else. Even for those few months when Geralt was either fucking or fighting Yennefer, Eskel hadn’t wavered. He had been there, had been Geralt’s rock.

Which made this whole situation with Jaskier even harder to deal with. With Jaskier, there was the possibility that Eskel could have everything he wanted. The opportunity to have a real relationship. To be able to acknowledge a relationship in public. To hold hands, kiss his partner without fear of recriminations. All of the things that he couldn’t do with Geralt. Worse than that, Eskel was greedy. He wanted all of those things with both Jaskier and Geralt.

And, okay, maybe he was getting a little ahead of himself. But, was he?

Geralt hadn’t discussed Yennefer with Eskel before he had embarked upon his worst idea ever, he had simply done it. It was as though she had cast a spell upon him, and he’d been helpless to resist, completely under her sway.

Eskel disliked the idea of doing this behind Geralt’s back but neither did he want to expose himself by having a conversation. Not when it couldn’t be face to face. Not when there was the possibility that Geralt could admit that it was just sex for him. That Eskel was a convenient warm body and that he didn’t love Eskel in the way Eskel loved him. Besides, he reasoned with himself, was it really behind Geralt’s back? It wasn’t as though this was being done without Geralt’s knowledge. Lambert had sent the video to them both. They had both acknowledged an attraction to Jaskier. It was simply that Eskel was in a position to do something about it.

Besides, a little flirting never hurt anyone. Right?

(~*~)

Ciri was as good as her word. Any time that Eskel tried to pull away from her, she refused to let him. She was a stubborn creature, something that she had inherited from Calanthe and that had only developed and strengthened growing up in Kaer Morhen. Knowing that the little girl he had tried to save was alive and well helped his interactions with Ciri, as did Lil’ Bleater. But, then again, Lil’ Bleater was a goat and the scars that carved up his face meant nothing to her. They didn’t seem to mean anything to Ciri either. She was truly fierce, their cub.

Eskel had been so afraid that she would see him differently. This was his niece. This was Geralt’s _daughter._ The same child whose hair he used to braid. Who he had taught to sing. Who claimed that he was tied with her dad as to who gave the best hugs. He had been so afraid that she would see him differently, would flinch away from him. Rationally, he had known that wouldn’t happen, that they had raised her better than that, but rationality didn’t always come into it. So, the fact that, even though she was now a teenager, Ciri still cuddled up to him when they were watching films and forced him to braid her while she cuddled Lil’ Bleater meant the world. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that she wasn’t doing it for herself. Not entirely. But he was so grateful that he wouldn’t say anything for fear of it changing.

Of course, because this was Ciri and she was Geralt’s daughter – and Calanthe’s granddaughter – and she had grown up at Kaer Morhen, she didn’t stop there. She demanded boxing lessons from him. He had taught her how to throw a punch years ago, purely in the name of self-defence. Now, she wanted more, wanted proper lessons. He tried to dissuade her, suggesting that she find a proper instructor but Ciri had refused and had stated that, if he was teaching Coën, then he could teach her as well.

Teaching Ciri to box was a different mindset to Coën. Eskel had to change the way that he taught but he quite liked that it made him think. With Coën he could push him and bark orders like a drill sergeant whereas with Ciri he needed more patience. Eskel also tried to tone down the language, at least while he was giving instructions, for all the good that it did. Ciri was a foul-mouthed little creature with the looks of an angel but then what else would you expect when ‘Fuck’ was Geralt’s favourite word. More than that, Eskel was just grateful beyond words that Ciri had seen past the scars and the failure and still wanted to spend time with him, dragging him down into Kaer Morhen a couple of evenings a week to supervise her using the boxing bag or instruct her using a set of pads for her to punch. So, to say that he was surprised to find himself – and Lil’ Bleater - dragged into Café Wanderlust rather than Kaer Morhen one night was an understatement.

“Umm, you do realise this place is closed, don’t you cub?”

The irritated roll of the eyebrows he received in response was pure Geralt. “Jas is teaching me how to play the piano. I’m going to practice while he finishes baking the cakes for open mic night tomorrow. I thought you might like to listen.”

Eskel smiled, “I’d love to, cub.”

The smells drifting in from the kitchen were mouth-watering as Ciri diligently set about her practice. She was no musical prodigy, but she had certainly come a long way since Eskel had taught her how to play Chopsticks on the piano in the officer’s mess.

“What do you think of my protégé?”

“Fuck!” Eskel jumped as Jaskier’s voice spoke from beside him. Lil’ Bleater – the traitor – wound herself around Jaskier’s ankles and bleated until she got head scritches.

“Sorry! What do you think? Lambert said you play. That you were the musical one.”

“Played,” Eskel corrected. “It’s been a long time. I’ve probably forgotten everything.”

“Nonsense, it’s just like riding a bike; you never truly forget. You’re always welcome to play here whenever you like, if you decide that you’d like to take it up again.”

Eskel just grunted for fear that he might end up saying something hugely embarrassing but Jaskier didn’t seem offended as he moved to sit at the piano bench next to Ciri. He listened to what Ciri had been working on, offering comments and suggestions here and there. They were at it for maybe forty-five minutes before the music changed to something that Eskel had never heard before. Ciri and Jaskier were both playing; Ciri playing a little melody that Jaskier fleshed out with chords and a countermelody. When they had played it through a couple of times, they started singing along. Ciri was most definitely adopted because she could actually hold a tune, unlike Geralt, her voice high and lilting. But Jaskier’s voice? _Fuck._ Eskel had obviously heard him sing before in the video that Lambert had sent him but there was a difference between live and recorded. That was a voice made for sin and Eskel could listen to it all day and all night. If Eskel hadn’t already been falling, he definitely had now.

He thought it was something they had written together. It definitely wasn’t anything that he had ever heard before. The verses were a little melancholic, but the chorus was catchy. Something about pirates but then something about sex and Melitele’s tits but Ciri shouldn’t be singing about sex. Not when they had all come to an agreement years ago that she definitely wasn’t allowed to date until she was at least thirty.

It was catchy though.

It didn’t take long for him to pick up the melody and by the third iteration, he was humming along, adding a bass harmony to what already existed. Eskel was so absorbed in petting Lil’ Bleater who had jumped into his lap that he was oblivious to the way that Jaskier’s head shot up at his harmonisation, a speculative look on his face.

(~*~)

Eskel wasn’t entirely sure what he had been expecting from the open mic night. He certainly hadn’t been expecting as many people as there were crowded into Wanderlust. There were what he guessed were the usual suspects – Yennefer and Triss, Coën and his professor friend, Ciri and a boy that Eskel assumed was the Dara she kept talking about – and a bunch of people that Eskel didn’t recognise. Even Vesemir and Lambert were there, the former looking not too happy about it while Lambert was staring at Coën’s professor friend as though he was the second coming. And wasn’t that interesting. Eskel noted that bit of information, ready to tease Lambert at a later date.

He did notice that the piano had moved ever so slightly from when Ciri had been doing her practice the previous evening. The angle had been changed so that whoever was playing predominantly on the bass end of the instrument would be closer to the audience, whereas the previous evening it had been the other way around. But then Jaskier was settling into the seat next to him, sliding a plate of chocolate cake in front of Eskel and feeding one of his special creations to Lil’ Bleater, and Eskel forgot everything except for Jaskier.

He was hyper-aware of everything related to Jaskier. His scent, the way that his body-heat radiated from him, his sheer presence. Eskel wasn’t aware of any of the other performers except for the poets and only then because Coën elbowed him. Eskel hadn’t been able to stop his shoulders from shaking in silent laughter as he realised this was the very same poetry that Lil’ Bleater had eaten. As though she knew, the culprit bleated quietly. But then Jaskier and Ciri were standing, Jaskier holding his hand out to him. To Eskel and the change of angle for the piano suddenly made sense. If he sat at the instrument, the right-hand side of his face would be hidden from the audience. He wanted to be angry for having this sprung on him, but he simply couldn’t summon that particular emotion.

“You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to, but Ciri and I would love it if you did.”

Once upon a time, Eskel wouldn’t have hesitated. He could see how much Ciri wanted him to join them, no matter how much she was trying to hide it. He couldn’t deny that the temptation was strong. Eskel looked at Jaskier, at the hand held out for him, the naked hope in Jaskier’s eyes. He was just on the verge of refusing when Lil’ Bleater headbutted his chest and he found himself accepting Jaskier’s hand instead of refusing it.

From the moment that he sat down at the piano, Lil’ Bleater at his left and Jaskier to his right, thigh pressed against his own, Eskel wasn’t truly aware of the performance. He knew that he sang the same harmonies he had sung the previous evening. He even added in a little bass part, acting on impulse. But the whole situation was as though he was observing it through a dream.

As they finished playing and applause rang out, Ciri’s glee was palpable and Jaskier was no better. The two of them stood and gave elaborate bows, to the shouts and catcalls of their friends, while Eskel stayed seated, not wanting to draw more attention to himself. That didn’t stop Ciri and Jaskier though, who bounced to either side of him and pressed kisses to his cheeks. Even Lil’ Bleater gave him a headbutt of appreciation. Eskel was quite unaffected by Ciri’s kiss, used to it as he was becoming. Jaskier’s kiss, though? Even if it hadn’t landed on his scarred right side, it would have had an effect on Eskel.

Oh yeah, he was fucked.


	5. Boys Only Want Love If It's Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have multiple confessions, some history and Ciri laments the men in her life.

“Why are men so stupid?”

It was an exasperated Ciri that stomped into Aretuza to the amusement of the final customer paying her bill. She made quite the sight; the rainbow tips of her hair and the pastel t-shirt contrasting with the black dungaree skirt and skull-emblazoned knee-high socks not to mention the scowl on her face. Luckily for her, the customer was a long-time regular of Aretuza as well as a recent patron of Wanderlust so Ciri was not unknown to her.

As soon as the customer had disappeared through the door and it had been locked for the evening, Yennefer turned her attention to Ciri. “That, my darling, is an age-old question. As of yet, we do not have an answer, although we can speculate. Now, is it all men or one in particular?”

“All men,” Ciri responded promptly then scrunched her face up. “No, not all men. Dara and Coën aren’t stupid, or Grandpa. So just Jas, Uncle Lambert and Uncle Eskel. Papa doesn’t count for the moment but only because I haven’t seen him in person for months.”

She didn’t hear Yennefer’s muttered, “oh Geralt is most definitely stupid.”

Ciri threw herself onto the chaise longue kept in the reception and, while she hadn’t heard the comment, she didn’t miss the look of amused indulgence on Yennefer’s face. “What? They are being stupid. I’ve had to deal with their stupidity all day.”

“Is there any particular reason they’re being stupid?”

“They’re refusing to see what’s right in front of them. Or they’re really blind and somehow incapable of seeing what is right in front of them and obvious to anyone with eyes. Jas has been mooning over Uncle Eskel all day and Uncle Eskel has been staring at Jas only to look away whenever their eyes meet. It’s like being in a bloody romcom. Coën said that Uncle Lambert fell off the treadmill this morning when Aiden started doing pull-ups. And that’s just today.”

“Ah, so this is about love, then? Or lust, at the very least.”

“See! You see it as well.”

“I do. As does Triss and I would wager Coën as well. None of them are particularly subtle. Many men, however, are not comfortable when it comes to the subject of love and the men of Kaer Morhen are a particularly stubborn breed. I speak from experience.”

“I’d almost forgotten that you went out with Papa. I suppose I wasn’t paying attention back then. How long ago was it?”

“A good six years ago now, if not more. I didn’t have much interaction with you back then. I think Geralt was a little afraid of what happened if you met me and got attached only for us to break up. Of course, we did break up but then that was hardly surprising. Geralt and I were not meant for each other. And I got you in my life anyway.”

“That sounds like a story.”

Yennefer inclined her head, “Perhaps. Would you be interested in hearing it?”

“Yes!”

“Come through into the back, I think we deserve a drink with this.”

Back in the staff area, Yennefer pulled an already open bottle of prosecco out of the fridge and poured two glasses. Ciri hesitated before she took the glass.

“You don’t have to drink it but you’re old enough. You might also want it given what I’m going to tell you about my relationship with your dad.”

Ciri took a quick sip and scrunched her face up at the bubbles. “Just, don’t go into too much detail?”

“Of course not. We met at a wine bar – Kaedwen – although it was called something else back then. He drew a lot of attention. Geralt is a good-looking man but the attention was more because he stuck out like a sore thumb. Melitele only knows why he was there because I never got him back there, but he was on leave. We were both single, both attracted to each other and we fell into bed that night. It was great sex that night and for the rest of his leave. Some of the best I’ve had.”

“Eww, Yen! That’s my papa!” Ciri took a big gulp and hiccupped loudly.

“And you wanted the story. This is part of the story. I won’t go into further details though. Anyway, Geralt’s leave finished and he went back out. We tried to keep things going but, well, there wasn’t much else there other than mutual attraction. Any time we spoke, we would end up fighting. He wasn’t particularly verbose, and it was hard to compete for his attention with you and his brothers. There was clearly a pecking order of importance in his affections and I didn’t even make the top three. I didn’t want that – if I’m in a relationship with someone then I want to be their priority – and I suggested that we finish things.

Geralt refused. He said that we weren’t used to the long-distance relationship thing, I wasn’t used to being an Army girlfriend and that we needed to give it more time. I wasn’t convinced but he persuaded me. He’s a stubborn as a rock. We stumbled through until he came back on leave again. The sex was as good as before, but the fights were even more vicious. We both knew just how to wound each other. It continued like that for nearly six months yet Geralt was so dogged at trying to keep things going, whilst refusing to talk about anything resembling a feeling. Finally, I had had enough, and I ended it. Some four months later, I met Triss and never looked back.”

“That explains Papa, but it doesn’t explain Uncle Eskel and Jaskier. Or Uncle Lambert.”

“I can’t speak for your uncles, although from observation they are very similar to Geralt. I have never known Lambert all that well and your Uncle Eskel has never been a fan of mine.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that. Uncle Lambert fights with you but with Uncle Eskel, it’s almost as though you don’t exist. Why is that **?”**

“I have my suspicions, but I would rather not speculate to you. If you want to know more, you should ask your Uncle Eskel.” Yennefer took a drink, “the men of Kaer Morhen are more complicated than most. They are also prouder than any other men I have ever met. They would rather remain single than risk exposing their feelings and get hurt. I would wager that is exactly what is happening at the moment. Or at least contributing. We are all privy to their emotions however, if they don’t have guarantees, they won’t do anything.”

“But what more do they want? Jas told me about Uncle Lambert and Aiden at Cintra and you saw Uncle Eskel and Jaskier at the open mic night. Uncle Eskel _sang_ and Jaskier kissed him on the cheek. The scarred cheek.”

“Little cub, I am not the one that you need to convince.”

“Ugh. Men. Is this why you ended up with Triss?”

Yennefer laughed at Ciri’s question, “I will admit that women are easier in many respects as they are more willing to connect with and acknowledge their feelings. But no, I ended up with Triss because I loved – love – her as no-one else in this world.”

Ciri couldn’t hold back the squeal as as Yennefer visibly softened at merely the thought of Triss. “See. This is what I want for them. This is what they deserve, all of them.”

“That you think so shows a kind heart, Ciri. And speaks of how you’ve been brought up,” Yennefer commented as she tugged at a lock of rainbow tipped hair.

“You do Kaer Morhen proud. However, as much as you want to help, one thing I do know is that you can’t push them too much, especially not Eskel. You need to let them feel like they’ve come to the decision themselves.”

Ciri’s eyes lit up, “so if I want to get them together, I need to be sneaky about it. Will you help?”

Yennefer gave a predatory smile, her violet eyes full of mischief. “Ciri, darling, it would be my absolute pleasure to induct you into the ways of scheming and manipulation.”

~*~

“Why the fuck are we in Nilfgaard of all places? ‘Let’s go for a beer’ you said, and I agreed, thinking you meant somewhere civilised like The Skellige, not this cesspit. Why aren’t we at Wanderlust or Cintra or anywhere your feet don’t stick to the floor?”

“Considering that you’ve been living in the sodding desert for the best part of six years, you’re a picky bastard. First of all, we’re not in Wanderlust because it’s a Saturday night so Buttercup is probably at Cintra and, even if he wasn’t, he still doesn’t sell alcohol. And we’re not in The Skellige because even though it’s nicer, the IPA’s are a fucking rip-off and I need to get rat-arsed tonight.”

“Is everything alright, Lamb?”

“Nope. That’s my line. I’m going to get the beers in while you think about your answer.”

The only good thing about Nilfgaard was that its beer was cheap without tasting like pigswill. As he placed his order, shouting it at the barman, Lambert eyed the spirits behind the bar. They had some quality vodka which was good; that could be his reward later for when he had made it through this ordeal. He couldn’t drink the good stuff now because Eskel was a wily bastard and Lambert actually wanted – needed – answers. He’d try the beer first and if that didn’t work then he’d bring in the big guns. Carrying a couple of pints each back to the table, he sat down.

“So? Have you got an answer for me? Is everything alright?”

“Again, did you really have to bring me to sodding Nilfgaard to ask that? What’s wrong with asking me at home where we’ve got better beer than this piss water?”

“Because I don’t think you want to have this conversation in front of Vesemir and Ciri. Now will you just answer the fucking question?”

“I’m fine. Shani’s unorthodox and I fucking hate talking about my feelings, but it helps. I’m teaching Coën and Ciri boxing, helping Ciri with her piano and I’ve got Lil’ Bleater. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, alright. Drink up. ‘Cause I’m going to make you talk about your fucking feelings.”

“Can’t we talk about the plans you left lying around with me teaching boxing classes at Kaer Morhen instead?”

“No. We can talk about that tomorrow when Vesemir makes us the mother of greasy fry-ups to feed the hangovers. Talk to me about Jaskier.”

“Fuck.” Eskel drained his first pint and sank half of his second, “you’d better open up a tab, then.”

Lambert relaxed incrementally and retrieved another two pints each from the bar.

“So.”

“So what?”

“Jaskier. Melitele’s tits Eskel, anyone would think I was trying to extract State secrets from you.”

Eskel snorted, “I might actually find that easier to talk about.”

“Oh, now you decide to be funny. Look, you like Jaskier, that’s painfully obvious. You have fucking hearts in your eyes every time you look at him and he’s no better. He’s probably written all sorts of love songs about you. Neither of you is subtle. Everyone has noticed it but what I want to know is why you aren’t doing anything about it.”

“And what do you expect me to do?”

“Ask him out like a normal person?”

“Except I’m not exactly normal, am I?”

“Aren’t you? You look pretty damn normal to me.”

“Lambert…”

“What?”

“You know fucking what. I was invalided out of the Royal Marines, my face is going to scar whatever treatment I use unless I want skin grafts, I don’t have a job and I have an attention-hungry, passive-aggressive miniature goat as a therapy pet. None of that screams ‘date me’, in my opinion. If anything, it says ‘run in the opposite direction screaming loudly’.”

“Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself. More self-deprecating than a teenage girl. Do you really think Jaskier cares about that shit? Look, okay you were invalided out. You weren’t the first, you won’t be the last. You could have a job by the end of breakfast tomorrow if you want it. Quite frankly, you’re not going to have a choice. Considering that I’ve seen Buttercup kiss your scars, I think it’s safe to say that he doesn’t find you any less attractive than if he’d met you without them and, given that he made Lil’ Bleater her own goat-safe cookies, she definitely isn’t an issue. So, in fact, the only issue is you being scared.”

“When did you become the fucking sensible one?”

“Fuck knows. Look, just ask him out. Worst case scenario, he says no but that’s not going to happen. We’re going to like Letho before Buttercup says no to a date with you.”

“It’s not as simple as that, Lamb.”

“Hello, Jaskier. My usual order please and would you like to go out with me? What’s so bloody difficult about that?”

“If it’s so simple, why haven’t you asked Aiden out then, lambchop?”

Lambert simultaneously inhaled his beer and choked on it, spraying his mouthful out to join the various sticky substances coating the floor and the table. “We’re not talking about Aiden right now. What’s really stopping you from asking Jaskier out? You’re both single and you both want each other…”

“It’s just not as simple as you’re making it out to be.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. Lambert was really going to need the good vodka after this and plenty of it. “Unless there’s another reason that you haven’t said. Geralt, maybe?”

“Melitele’s flaming tits.”

Eskel’s response was more restrained than Lambert had expected. He had been expecting explosions, maybe even storming out, not this subdued reaction.

“What do you know? How long have you known?”

“What I know is that you two are shit at trying to keep it secret. Whatever it is. How long? I don’t know … well before I enlisted.”

“Fuck.” Eskel eyed the remaining dregs of beer. “I need something stronger than this.”

“They’ve got vodka behind the bar.”

“That’ll do.”

As soon as he returned with the bottle and two shot glasses, Eskel wasted no time in downing two shots straight before giving Lambert a sardonic smile. “I always thought you knew something, you know.”

“Well you two are as subtle as a fucking freight train when you’re going at it. The back of the mess hall? Really?”

“That wasn’t the one I was expecting.”

“I’m not listing all of the times. Don’t have the energy for that shit.”

“Why did you never say anything? Why stay quiet?”

“Why did you and Geralt never tell me? Figured that you’d tell me when you were ready.”

“Are we the reason you were discharged?” It was the question that Eskel had been desperate to ask but was afraid of the answer. He still was, but if they were going to do this, then they were doing it properly.

Now it was Lambert’s turn to down several shots, wincing at the burn and steeling himself to respond.

“Yes.”

“Fuck.” Eskel recoiled so swiftly that the chair rocked and very nearly fell. Apologies and curses fell from his lips in a rapid litany.

Lambert’s heart sank. He had wanted to avoid this. It had been a clusterfuck when Eskel came home and he had been doing so well in the last couple of weeks and now Lambert might have ruined all of it. He reached across the table and wrapped his hand around Eskel’s wrist.

“I don’t regret it and I don’t blame you. At all. So, you can stop with that shit right now.”

“What happened?”

“One of the American squaddies saw you. Started mouthing off with all this homophobic shit about how it was wrong and all that bollocks. How queers shouldn’t be allowed to serve. Said that it was illegal, and he was going to report you. I convinced him not to report you with my fists.”

“Lambert…”

“What? Fucking homophobic prick. As if I was going to let him get away with that.”

“I can’t believe you’d do that. Throw your career away for us. I love you Lamb.”

“Who said anything about throwing my career away? I’m a highly sought-after personal trainer. And I love you too. I’ll leave the dick touching to you and Geralt though.”

“Arsehole.”

“Yup. We were getting far too sentimental.”

“Does this mean we can stop having awkward conversations about feelings and just get pissed?”

“Not in the slightest. Drink up.”

“Why are you making this painful for both of us?”

“You need to talk to someone. I’m betting you haven’t said anything to Shani and the world would have to end before Geralt opened his mouth and used his big boy words.”

Eskel let out a bark of laughter that was distinctly broken in the middle before proceeding to down four vodka shots, only pausing long enough in between to refill the glass.

“Well, what do you want to know?”

“How long have you and Geralt been … you know? I mean, I saw you before I enlisted but…”

“Since we were teenagers. We were each other’s first everything. Kiss, mutual wank, blow job…”

“Fuck.”

“That too.” Eskel’s smirk was mirthless as he downed another shot, “best part of two decades.”

“And you’ve never told anybody?”

“What would we tell them? We’re brothers that fuck now and then?”

“I can’t actually remember the last time you and Geralt referred to each other as brothers. You just don’t correct other people when they call you brothers. Vesemir fostered us, never adopted us. It’s not actually illegal or incest. You were brought up in the same home, but you’re not related. You can legally shag each other all you want. People might think it’s weird but that’s their problem.” Lambert took a shot himself before Eskel drank the whole bottle. “It’s more than just sex though, isn’t it?”

“Who the fuck knows. It’s not like we’ve ever sat down and had the relationship talk.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’m shit at relationships – case in point, the fucking shitshow that was Berengar and it’s not as though things with Keira ended happily - but even I could establish what we were doing; whether it was casual or official. Why did you never?”

“You said it yourself. Geralt and words have never gone well together.”

“And you and I both know that if anyone can make Geralt talk, it’s you. So why go so long with things like this?” Lambert moved the bottle out of Eskel’s reach. “Talk then vodka.”

“Because I was scared. Because Geralt had Yennefer and any number of men and women have thrown themselves at him over the years and I’ve seen his interest in them. But he’s been it for me since I was sixteen. I never said anything because I was – am – afraid that I’m in love with him and I’m just convenient for him. I never said anything because I’m a coward and I hate talking about this. And now you’ve lost your career because of it. Because of something that might not actually be anything.”

Lambert scrubbed a hand over his face and shoved the bottle back across the table. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re wrong about Geralt. I think he can be a massive prick, but he loves you.”

“There’s a difference between love and in love, lambchop.”

“Don’t call me lambchop. Is this why you said it isn’t simple with Buttercup?”

Another shot. All of them had a high tolerance for alcohol but Eskel’s intake was impressive.

“Jaskier is the first person I’ve ever been interested in that isn’t Geralt. When I saw that video you sent … fuck! And then in person? With Jaskier there is the possibility of the relationship I’ve always wanted, but I can’t exactly turn off two decades of feelings for Geralt.”

“Who says you have to?”

“Are you…”

“Suggesting that you date Jaskier? Yes. You and Geralt aren’t monogamous. You deserve the chance to explore a possibility. You deserve a chance to be fucking happy.”

“And when Geralt comes home?” Eskel refused to believe that there was a possibility that Geralt wouldn’t come back. “What, I just choose between them?”

“Who says you have to choose? Why can you not have both? Jaskier _and_ Geralt. There was a reason that I sent you both that video.”

“That could get messy.”

“It could. It could also be amazing. Won’t know until you try it.”

“If I promise to think about it, can we get drunk now?”

“I’ll get more vodka.”

~*~

Jaskier smiled as Essi chattered away at him about her students and the gig that she had done the other evening that looked as though it was going to turn into a regular gig. He had missed her. It had been months since they had seen each other and it didn’t look like that was going to change anytime soon; they were both simply too busy. They would just have to make do with video calls for a while longer. Not that it changed anything. Or the amount of wine that they drank.

There was a small part of him that was envious of her. Essi may not have been signed by an agent, may be doing the painful rounds that every aspiring singer-songwriter dud but she was living her dream. The dream that Jaskier had shared for a while. Not that he would give up Wanderlust for anything. As though she sensed the direction of his thoughts, Essi changed the subject.

“But you don’t want to hear horror stories about the little brats that I teach. How’s your café? Wanderlust, isn’t it?”

“Amazing. Exhilarating. More than I thought it could be. Terrifying.” Jaskier huffed out a deep breath, “I knew that it was going to be a huge thing to take on but, even so … I have five employees, Essi! Five!”

“Look at you, the big bad boss.”

Jaskier whined and drained his glass of wine. “Don’t be mean.”

“You love it when I’m mean. Five employees or not, you look happy.”

“I am. Happier than I thought I would be. The community has really embraced Wanderlust and I’ve made some wonderful friends. A family, really.”

“Nothing from the Earl then?”

“Of course not; I’m baking cakes, not wrangling the stock market. I get the odd message from mum but I think he’s probably reading her messages so…”

Essi had known him long enough to know that he didn’t want sympathy or platitudes. “Come on then, give me the gossip. It can’t all be coffee and cake. All work and no cock makes Jaskier a …”

“ _Essi!”_

“My apologies, I know you’re all about equal opportunities, I couldn’t make it rhyme though. So? Any gorgeous men or women on the horizon?”

Jaskier felt his cheeks heat as his thoughts immediately gravitated towards Eskel at Essi’s question. He tried to hide behind his wine glass but wasn’t quick enough for Essi’s eagle eyes.

“Jask! You’re blushing! Come on, give me the dirt! London men are dicks; I need to live vicariously through you. Man or woman?”

“Man.”

“And? You need to give me more than that or I’ll have to come down there – up there? – and sit on you until you do.”

“You should come anyway. Photos don’t do this place justice. You’d love Aretuza, although introducing you to Triss and Yennefer might be dangerous. You could meet everyone else, sing at open mic night and I’d bake all of your favourites.”

“Nice try. Details.”

“Okay. So you know Ciri …”

“I believe you’ve mentioned her a time or a dozen. I have been usurped.”

“Never! Well, maybe a little bit.” Jaskier laughed and took another slug of wine at Essi’s squawk of outrage. “When I met her, she was living with her grandpa who owns the gym across the road. Her dad and uncles were all serving in the military. Anyway, her uncles have both been discharged since and, well, her uncle Eskel…”

“Hot?”

“So fucking hot. Ciri had shown me a photo and they all looked like Greek gods, but that photo really didn’t do him justice.”

“With a name like Eskel he sounds like a Norse warrior rather than a Greek god.”

“Norse warrior. Greek god. Who cares which one? He’s gorgeous. Maybe an inch taller than me but, well,” Jaskier’s tongue was loosened by the best part of his second bottle of wine and this was Essi – she’d heard worse from him, “he’s thicc. So thicc.”

“Yeah?” Essi cackled and waggled her eyebrows. “What else?”

“Dark hair, long enough to hold onto, definitely not Army regulation. Amber eyes. He was injured in the Middle East – that’s why he was discharged – and has scars over his right eye and cheek.”

“Scars?”

“He looks scary but he’s a teddy bear. He’s so sweet with Ciri and he has the cutest miniature goat called Lil’ Bleater. He plays the piano and he sings. Essi, _he sings._ ”

“Fuck, you have it bad, Jaskier.”

“So bad,” Jaskier whined as he emptied the last of the wine into his glass. “He’s everything I want in a man.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Go and get him!”

“I don’t know. He’s older than me and I don’t even know if he likes men.”

“I will remind you of my music theory lecturer that you slept with who was easily old enough to be your dad. Or that woman in her fifties who wanted to be your ‘patroness’? They didn’t have a problem with the age difference. And there were definitely a few straight boys who realised they weren’t as straight as they thought they were after encountering you.”

Jaskier smirked around the rim of the wine glass before he flailed and spilled the last bit over the sofa. “But that doesn’t help me with Eskel! How do I?”

Essi’s confusion wasn’t remotely diminished by dint of being over a WiFi connection rather than in person. “Are you seriously asking me how to romance someone? You, Jaskier? I’ve never met a bigger flirt. I was your housemate for two years so I know exactly how successful you can be at pulling when you want to be.”

“I don’t think clubbing will work with Eskel, Essi.” Jaskier went to take a drink only to look mournfully at the empty vessel.

“You’re a modern-day renaissance man, Jaskier. Cake is your way to his cock! Bake him his favourites. And a little serenading never hurt anyone. Take inspiration from those troubadours you idolise so much. Write him a song.”

Jaskier was oblivious to Essi’s farewell, already plotting which recipes he was going to use to his advantage, snatches of new lyrics running through his head.

Eskel wasn’t going to know what had hit him.


	6. There's A Fire Burning in my Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaskier makes a play for Eskel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this wasn't posted last night ... first week back in school and all that!

Jaskier had never regretted a second bottle of wine more when his alarm went off the morning after his video call with Essi. It was sod’s law that a Saturday night – the one day where he could legitimately have a lie in the following morning – was Essi’s biggest night for gigs and so out of the question. He supposed that he should just be grateful that it was a Wednesday and one of the quieter days at Wanderlust. Opening the door at 8am was an effort but Jaskier managed it – just – with the help of a cold shower, painkillers and the strongest black coffee he could make. Several of his regulars looked concerned but Jaskier waved them off with a rueful grin and a muttered explanation of “hangover”. Okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly professional, but he was hardly the first person to work with a hangover.

Luckily for him, Wanderlust was having a quiet morning. Unfortunately for him, the scent of Cahir’s early morning baking wasn’t exactly helping his nausea. What also didn’t help was that Yennefer had chosen that day of all days to make her weekly visit to the café. Jaskier still wasn’t completely certain how he felt about the woman. He neither liked nor disliked her. He had a healthy appreciation for her ‘give no fucks’ attitude that was tempered by an equal amount of fear and disdain for the way that she cared for no one but Triss.

Yennefer didn’t come into Wanderlust as frequently as Triss – who was usually in multiple times a week – but she came in once a week without fail to trade barbs with Jaskier. Normally, he gave as good as he got. With a hangover, he failed pitifully. He tried but his foggy brain simply couldn’t keep up with Yennefer’s lightning fast tongue and she departed with a “disappointing puppy, try again next time”, leaving him to serve the few customers that he had.

Istredd started his shift as Cahir finished his at mid-morning, allowing Jaskier to go and hide in the kitchen under the pretence of doing the afternoon baking. Well, no pretence. He had to do the afternoon baking. It just might be a little more simplistic than normal. As he pulled out his phone to bring up Spotify, he saw a message from Essi.

_Masterplan to seduce a Norse warrior. FLIRT!! Cake – bake his favourites. Serenade him. Be yourself. Get your man!_

Jaskier smiled, remembering how she had called him a modern-day renaissance man the previous evening. It had been a long time since he had had an actual plan to get a date, but then he didn’t think he’d ever met a man quite like Eskel.

In some ways, he had expected his meeting Eskel to go much the same as meeting Lambert had gone. It was funny how, on seeing a photo of them, Jaskier had considered all three men to be serious spank bank material – and yes, he had indulged once or twice but any gay or bisexual man with a working cock would have done – but meeting Lambert in person had changed that. Yes, Lambert was seriously attractive for a ginger with those luscious curls growing out and a ripped body but, Jaskier didn’t want to be up close and personal with his dick. He would leave that to Aiden.

It wasn’t so with Eskel.

Jaskier hadn’t been entirely sure what to make of the man when he first met him. He liked everything that he had heard from Ciri and Lambert, had been intrigued. But he had also seen how hurt Ciri had been when Eskel had refused to hug her and locked himself away from everyone. All he knew – thanks to a couple of texts from Lambert – was that Eskel had been wounded serving overseas, medically discharged and he wasn’t dealing well with that. While his heart broke for Ciri, Jaskier stood by his words to her and his conviction that her uncles actions came from a good place. He felt validated when Eskel finally made it into Café Wanderlust and his proper reunion with Ciri. Of course, that also the moment that Jaskier had realised he was fucked.

Jaskier had perhaps not been as eloquent as he could have been when he was describing Eskel’s physical attributes to Essi the previous evening, but he blamed that on the alcohol. He knew that they weren’t blood-related, but he couldn’t get over how different Eskel and Lambert were physically. If you threw Ciri’s dad into the mix, the differences were even more pronounced. Lambert was rangy and ripped, while Eskel was built like a bear. Ciri looked tiny in his arms and Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to be crushed up against that broad chest.

He had taken the opportunity while they were occupied with Ciri to drink his fill and stare unabashedly at Eskel.

He tried to be subtle about it. Or, as subtle as he possibly could be. He had heard so much about Eskel – about both of Ciri’s uncles and her papa – but hearing about him wasn’t the same as seeing him in the flesh. Jaskier had thought that Eskel was attractive in the pictures that Ciri had shown him but that was nothing compared to real life. Eskel was built like a bear. Taller than Jaskier and broader by a considerable amount with dark hair and amber eyes. Not even the recent injuries that left livid red wounds across his face as well as countless unseen wounds detracted from his attractiveness.

And then Jaskier got to know him.

While his attraction to Lambert had waned the more he got to know the man, that definitely didn’t happen with Eskel. If anything, Jaskier fell more in lust with the man. And not just lust.

Love. Jaskier was pretty sure that he was in love.

He definitely didn’t just want sex. He wanted more. Jaskier very much liked the idea of a relationship with Eskel. It wasn’t something that he had ever really done or wanted before. Oh, he had had a few flings that lasted a few weeks or even a month but nothing longer than that. He hadn't really seen the need. Jaskier was more than content with his work and his friends to need anything else. That had changed since he had moved here, since he had bought Wanderlust. Okay, so not everyone that he now knew was in a relationship - Coën was single as were Aiden and Lambert, but those two were inevitable - but there was a feeling of community, of family, here. It was somewhere he wanted to put down roots and have a future. To have somebody to share those things with.

Besides, you got to a point where one-night stands or fuck buddy relationships simply weren't enough. Jaskier wanted the comfort and the cuddles as much as regular sex. He missed cuddles and snuggling and Eskel looked like he would be amazing at both of those things. Sex would be great as well. All three of those things with Eskel? Jaskier very much wanted those things.

As though his ears had been burning, Jaskier heard Lambert’s familiar voice out in the main cafe placing his order with Istredd, his questions answered by a low rumble that had to be Eskel. It could be Vesemir but that wasn’t likely given that he only ever patronised Wanderlust first thing in the morning. A sneak peek out of the kitchen confirmed what he had heard. Well, this was rather fortuitous.

It was time to put 'masterplan to seduce a Norse warrior' into motion.

Eskel seemed to be a fan of chocolate cake so that was going to the top of today’s baking list. It didn’t matter what Jaskier had been planning, chocolate was now on the menu. The more chocolate involved, the better.

All of a sudden, Jaskier’s hangover was feeling not quite so debilitating.

Ninety minutes later, Jaskier headed out into the main room of the café, Jaskier smiled as he saw Lambert and Eskel there, sat at one of the larger tables with the surface covered in papers and a rather battered laptop. Well, he’d be an idiot to pass up on an opportunity. Time for part two of ‘masterplan to seduce a Norse warrior’ and fuck, it needed a better name than that. He sauntered over and propped himself against Eskel’s chair.

“Well, if it isn’t my two favourite men. And one of my favourite girls,” Jaskier amended as Lil’ Bleater poked her head up out of Eskel’s lap and baa-ed at him, angling for head scritches.

“I’m telling Coën you said that.”

“Tell him tomorrow; he’ll be here with Aiden for their regular lunch.”

Jaskier smirked as Lambert scowled at him muttering, “vicious, poisonous Buttercup.”

“What has you two looking all industrious?”

“Lamb has big plans for Kaer Morhen. PT sessions, boxing classes and private lessons. Try and fix the old place up to try and get some new clientele in.”

“And hopefully get rid of Letho in the process.”

Jaskier tugged sharply on a red curl, “be nice. He gave me his grandmother’s piano.”

“Letho? Letho _fucking_ Gulet has a grandma? He wasn’t spawned?”

Jaskier flicked Eskel’s ear in disapproval, “now I know where your niece gets it from.”

“What? Letho’s a git. Anyone who frequents Kaer Morhen will tell you that. Wait, the piano belonged to Letho’s grandma? I’ve touched that piano! Please tell me that you disinfected it before I played it.”

"Why would I disinfect it? I'd damage the keys if I did that. It was thoroughly – and safely - cleaned once it was tuned."

"Hmmm."

"Oh, ye of little faith. Well, industry such as this needs sustenance. Have you had lunch yet?"

"We've had coffee."

"I am a huge advocate of coffee, but man cannot live on coffee alone. What did you have for breakfast?"

The silence was deafening. Slowly, Eskel responded. “Protein shakes?”

“That is entirely unacceptable, darling man. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, but it needs to constitute of actual food. Protein shakes do not count. Food that has flavour, that you can take pleasure in eating. That counts.”

“Ours had flavour. They were chocolate peanut-butter.”

“Artificial flavouring doesn’t count. I’m going to get you food. Proper food. _My_ food. Istredd, can you get Lambert and Eskel refills please?”

“On it, boss.”

As Jaskier bustled around selecting sandwiches for them, he couldn’t help but sneak peeks at Eskel, noting that he seemed to be a little bewildered by Jaskier’s behaviour. Bewildered wasn’t that bad. Jaskier didn’t know too much about Eskel’s dating history but he had the feeling that it wasn’t extensive. What there was of it, Jaskier also had the suspicion that it hadn’t been stellar, that Eskel hadn’t been treated as the treasure he was.

Jaskier was going to change that. Starting now.

He loaded the tray with the coffee refills, sandwiches made with Cahir’s bread and the cake that he had made once he heard Eskel’s voice in Wanderlust, carrying it over for them.

“Here we go! Sandwiches, coffee and ultimate chocolate cake for Eskel.”

“How come Eskel gets cake made especially for him?”

“Why? Are you jealous?”

Lambert bluffed and blustered, protesting that of course he wasn’t jealous. Jaskier chuckled and gave him a one-armed hug; no need to make Eskel too suspicious. At least not too soon.

“Eskel gets special cake because he’s Eskel. I’ve made you your favourite before, Lamb. You said you like chocolate, so here you go. It’s not quite death by chocolate but it’s not far off.” Jaskier tugged at one of Lambert’s curls, giving him and Eskel half-hugs while he pressed a kiss to the top of Eskel’s head. “All feedback gratefully received.”

As he moved away, Jaskier couldn’t help but be pleased by the light blush and look of pleasure on Eskel’s face.

Masterplan in motion.

~*~

With the flirting well underway and seemingly showing no success, Jaskier decided that it was time to recruit help. Eskel no longer flinched away from the kisses that Jaskier planted on his scarred cheek or looked bewildered when Jaskier called him “dear heart” but he wasn’t responding to any of the flirting. He definitely wasn’t initiating any flirting of his own. So, either he was sweet but stupid and utterly oblivious or he was straight. Of course, there was the possibility that he already had somebody and was just ignoring Jaskier in the hope of avoiding an awkward conversation. Whatever it was, Jaskier needed information and what better source than his favourite employee.

He took the opportunity one Sunday afternoon after the café had closed and he’d given Ciri her piano lesson, producing a plate of cupcakes. Very special cupcakes that had Ciri cheering.

“Jas! Are these Pride cupcakes?”

“Not necessarily. I was experimenting and I realised I hadn’t done anything with rainbows for a while.”

“Uh huh.” Ciri swiped a finger through the buttercream and hummed happily at the taste. “Hundreds would believe you, but I don’t.”

“Yes, well you were exposed to Yennefer at far too young an age. Just out of curiosity,” Jaskier picked up his own cupcake and took a bite. Too sweet to appeal to most palates; he’d have to tweak the recipe before he sold them. “If we were to do Pride, what did you have in mind?”

Ciri eyed him, “I thought you said that we’d start with rainbows in the windows?”

“Can a man not change his mind?”

“What do you want?”

“So suspicious, employee mine. You’ve definitely been spending too much time with Yennefer.”

“Who says it was Yen? You’ve met Grandpa. And Grandmother Calanthe was apparently worse so maybe it’s genetic.”

Jaskier tilted his head in acknowledgement.

“So, beloved boss of mine, what did you want?”

“Information.”

“Sorry, did I hear that right? You want information? You have remembered I’m a teenager girl, haven’t you? What could I possibly give you information about?”

“Eskel.”

“Eskel? As in Uncle Eskel? _My_ Uncle Eskel?”

“Well how many Eskel’s do you know?”

“Oh my gods, Jas! Do you like Uncle Eskel? Like fancy him?”

“I take it back. You’re no longer my favourite employee; you’ve been replaced by Cahir. You’re a demon child.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. As if you could replace me with Cahir. This is just so exciting. What do you want to know?”

“Well I’ve been flirting with him and he just doesn’t seem to have got the hint so … is he straight and thus completely uninterested? Or is he gay or bi and just oblivious?”

“The second one, I think? I mean, I don’t ever remember him dating anyone but then apparently Papa dated Yen and I never knew.” Ciri blithely ignored Jaskier choking and carried on, “he’s definitely been watching you. Especially when you’re singing. Oh yeah, and when you’re bending over to fill the display cabinets. Look, there’s Triss! She might know, I think Uncle Eskel’s friends with her. I’m going to ask her.”

“Ciri, wait…” Jaskier trailed off as Ciri was already about the door and dragging Triss inside.

“Triss! I was right. I _told_ Yennefer that Jaskier and Uncle Eskel were interested in each other and Jas just admitted it. Only we don’t know about Uncle Eskel. He’s not responding to Jas’ flirting. Do you know? Is he straight or queer?”

“He told Coën and I that he’s gay.”

Ciri started doing a victory dance in her seat but Jaskier heard the hesitation in Triss’ voice and called her on it. “But…”

“What do you mean ‘but’?” Ciri looked crestfallen.

“Triss? There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

“Look, I was being nosy. He was staring at Jaskier and not being at all subtle, so I asked and he admitted he was gay. I also asked if he was in a relationship.”

“And?” Triss’ face fell into that horrible sympathetic expression and Jaskier felt his heart sink.

“I’m sorry, Jask. I’m so sorry but he said that it was complicated.”

Of course, Eskel had somebody else. Why wouldn’t he? He was gorgeous and kind and brave and so many other things. It made sense that somebody had seen his attributes and snatched him up. Whoever they were, they were inordinately lucky, and he hoped that they knew what a treasure they had. Across the table, Ciri was taking the news almost worse than Jaskier. He forced a smile to his face just for her.

“Ciri, it’s okay … it’s not the first time that I’ve heard someone I’m interested in is already taken. It definitely won’t be the last.”

Triss, bless her, tried to help. “Complicated doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Or it could mean a whole lot of things, none of them being that he’s taken.”

“No, nope, nada. Don’t believe it. Uncle Eskel likes _you,_ Jas _._ He’s not with somebody else. I’m messaging Uncle Lambert. If anyone will know, it will be him.”

Ciri’s fingers flew across her phone at a ridiculous speed. Jaskier wanted to stop her, wanted to tell her not to be so invested in this but he couldn’t bring himself to. It would be better if he knew for sure. Then he could hopefully stop himself from falling for Eskel any further. There was one thing he didn’t like though and it was all he could do to stop himself from banging his head on the table as he lamented, “when did my potential love life become public property?”

Triss patted him gently on the back but her words weren’t remotely helpful. “Don’t be so dramatic, it could be worse. Yen could be here.”

“Oh gods, don’t. That would be a disaster.”

Anything else Jaskier was going to say was cut off as Ciri’s phone rang, “Uncle Lambert! You’re on speakerphone.”

_“If it’s Buttercup who is asking, then yes, Eskel is single and available.”_

“But Triss said…”

_“Lovely as Merigold is, I know Eskel a bit better than she does. Yes, it is a bit complicated, but he is not in a relationship. I promise you that, Buttercup. He is very much interested in you, but you will have to ask him because he won’t do it. He still can’t understand why anyone would want him now.”_

“Lambert…”

_“Just trust me on this, Buttercup. I promise you that you’re not making a mistake in going after Eskel.”_

“I trust you, Lambert.” As Lambert rang off and the dial tone sounded, Jaskier turned to Ciri and Triss, “Ladies, it looks like I’m in need of a plan.”

(~*~)

Despite enlisting Ciri and Triss’ help, they hadn’t thought of anything to add to or better Essi’s original plan. Or so Jaskier thought. Four days later, he was waiting for Ciri to come for her piano lesson toying around with a few ideas that he had had for a song for Eskel. He smiled as Ciri tumbled in through the door, her usual riot of pastels and skulls.

“What do you think to this?” He started to play the first chords of what he’d been working on, only for Ciri to tug him away from the piano.

“Can you show me another time and lock up? There’s somewhere we need to be.”

“Where do we need to be so urgently? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, now come on, it’s part of the plan.”

Jaskier started to drag his heels when he realised where they were heading. “Ciri, why are we going into Kaer Morhen? I don’t do gyms, and this isn’t in the plan.”

“Not in your plan, no. It is in mine. And are you saying you wouldn’t even go in a gym if Uncle Eskel was teaching?”

Jaskier made a string of strangled sounds that roughly translated to “Eskel? Teaching?”

“Yup.” Ciri bounced into Kaer Morhen. “Tonight’s the class he does for the uni students. Aiden, Sabrina and Istredd helped advertise it. He’s started coaching some of the existing gym clients as well as me and Coën.”

“Are we allowed to watch? It won’t be weird?”

“Yep, we’re allowed. Just think of it as an incentive. Uncle Eskel is being oblivious at the moment, but it will be worth it when he’s yours.”

“You speak as though it’s a foregone conclusion.”

“It is if you ask Uncle Lambert.”

“Ah yes. Well, you’ll forgive me if I don’t take all of my romantic advice from Lambert who still hasn’t managed to realise that Aiden is crazy in lust for him.”

“I have stupid uncles.”

“You really do, kid. Right, come on then.”

Jaskier really wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but it certainly wasn’t this. Lambert and Eskel had said that there was a lot of space that Vesemir had never used but Jaskier had just assumed they meant spare rooms used for storage or left empty. This was a large space with tiers at one end. Around the outskirts of the room a selection of punch bags and dummies had been set up at what seemed to be different heights and – if Jaskier were to guess – different weights. He allowed Ciri to drag him towards the tiers, nothing that a few of his regulars were among the students along with Istredd. They had just taken their seats when Eskel walked in wearing sweatpants and a black hoody emblazoned on the back with an awfully familiar logo.

“Isn’t that the design you were doodling on your shift a few weeks ago?”

“Yeah, it looks good, doesn’t it? Uncle Lambert and Uncle Eskel want to make this place into something more and all those posh gym chains have logos. Grandpa always refers to us as a wolf pack so I thought it would be cool. They’re a trial but we thought about selling them as merchandise and making a bit of a profit.”

“I like them,” Jaskier admired the snarling wolf with the words ‘School of the Wolf’ underneath, Kaer Morhen written on the breast. “I’d buy one even though I would never do a workout here.”

Ciri pushed Jaskier playfully, only her playful was so hard that he ended up sprawled across the tier they were sat on. “Silly Jas, you don’t need to buy one. I told you; you’re honorary pack. You get one anyway.”

The movement drew Eskel’s attention and he looked straight at them, clearly more than a little surprised at seeing them there. Jaskier gave an awkward wave and pantomimed that it was all Ciri’s fault, feeling a little better when Eskel shook his head with a rueful smile. Even so, Jaskier couldn’t help but feel bad for springing this on Eskel. For the first fifteen minutes or so of the class, he was clearly very aware that he had an audience and Jaskier was tempted to leave to make it easier but then, all of a sudden, something changed and Eskel relaxed.

It was eye opening.

Jaskier had known that Eskel was a good teacher, had seen glimpses of it when he helped Ciri with her piano practice, but this was completely different. Jaskier sometimes got the feeling that Eskel felt a bit of a fraud teaching Ciri piano because he had never taken lessons himself. Teaching boxing, he was clearly in his element and Jaskier couldn’t get enough of it. The lesson progressed and Jaskier watched fascinated as Eskel led his students through a mix of conditioning and stretching exercises as well as warm-up’s that included skipping before drilling them in a variety of what Jaskier assumed were boxing techniques both as a whole class and in pairs.

Jaskier had no concept of time, no idea how long he had been sat there for when Eskel announced it was time for sparring.

Jaskier was not prepared. Not in the slightest.

In his defence, he wasn’t entirely sure how you did prepare yourself for the kind of sight that he was treated to. Eskel had shot a glance in the direction of Jaskier and Ciri as though he were debating something before he set his shoulders and stripped out of his hoody. It was unfair. The man was ridiculously attractive in jeans and a hoody, but now in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top? He was off the charts. Jaskier’s mouth was dryer than the Sahara desert, and he was quite tempted to swoon. Yes, there was a couple of places where the skin was red and shiny from burns but that did the same thing as the facial injuries in detracting from Eskel’s attractiveness; absolutely fuck all.

As Eskel took turns sparring with the more confident members of the class, Jaskier shamelessly drank his fill. The way that the worn material of the sweatpants hugged Eskel’s arse and clung to his thighs. How the tank top almost revealed more than it covered. How tanned skin glistened with sweat that Jaskier just wanted to lick.

“Jas, are you okay? You haven’t said anything for a while and your eyes are all glazed over.”

“I’m thinking really inappropriate thoughts about your uncle.”

“Eeeewwww! Really?!”

“I would say I’m sorry, but I’d be lying. I’m not remotely sorry. He’s really hot.”

“Was my addition to the plan good?”

“It was brilliant. Just, don’t expect coherence for a while and that you are the one who enabled me.”

“You’re the worst boss ever.”

“Lies. I’m the best.”

“Whatever. I’m going to go see Grandpa and Uncle Lambert if you’re just going to perve over Uncle Eskel.”

“Bye Ciri. Thank you Ciri.”

As Jaskier watched Eskel spar with a student and then coach them slowly through the corrections – hello competency kink – he determined to up his game with the plan. Maybe it was time to try a bit of good old-fashioned serenading.

~*~

When the time for the next open mic night came around, Jaskier was suffering from some rather uncharacteristic performance anxiety. He’d done his share of reasonably high-stakes performances over the years; auditions, his final recital, _Essi’s_ final recital and various showcases but none of them had felt like this. None of them had had such a reward if he was successful. Oh, it had seemed like it at the time – a place at his preferred university, cash, a more high-profile gig, a first in his degree – but now Eskel was at stake. A relationship with him. Hopefully. Or at least a date.

He had spent so much time at the piano and when he hadn’t been at the keyboard, he had been on his guitar. Add in running Wanderlust and all the baking, sleep had been exceptionally low on his list of priorities. He had started and abandoned the best part of a dozen songs, none of them seeming quite right or just not good enough. Finally, when he had something, he then had a panic about whether it was _too_ much. Especially given that he was going to be making a play for Eskel in front of an audience. Jaskier had thought about performing it in private – he had plenty of opportunities, after all – but he was a dramatic bitch at heart so a public confession of what every single customer probably already knew was much more his style.

The open mic nights were steadily starting to gain a reputation and more popularity amongst both performers and audience – each month saw more people turn up – so Wanderlust was properly packed and buzzing. It had become something of a tradition for Jaskier to be the last performer of the evening and it added to the pressure. Jaskier had played the song to Ciri and Triss, who had both squealed and claimed it was perfect. The two of them were so convinced that he and Eskel would be perfect for each other that Jaskier was almost afraid to disappoint them, especially Ciri. He had never had so much riding on one single song before. In his stress, Jaskier had even run the lyrics past Lambert, determined not to embarrass Eskel. Now, all he had to do was perform it.

Next to him, Eskel placed a hand on Jaskier’s thigh, quieting the bouncing that Jaskier hadn’t even noticed. “Everything okay?”

“Just a bit nervous. Got a new song and I don’t know what the reaction will be.”

“Little songbird, I have never heard anything of yours that hasn’t achieved the desired response. I’m sure that this one will be no different.”

Jaskier was so thrown by the fact that Eskel had called him by a pet name for the first time – no words had ever sounded so sweet – that he was oblivious to the fact that no one was performing. Didn’t realise that everyone was waiting for him until Yennefer gave him a sharp kick to the ankle and a ‘what the fuck do you think you’re playing at’ look on her face as she gestured towards the stage.

Glancing once more at Lambert for reassurance and trying not to look at the gleeful anticipation written across the faces of Triss and Ciri, Jaskier got to his feet and made his way to the performance space.

“Okay, I have something a bit different for you this time. No guitar, no lute, no piano. Just little old me. I wrote this for a certain someone and I hope that he knows it’s for him because this could get a little embarrassing otherwise. I suppose it’s already embarrassing because I’m actually serenading someone in the hope that I might get a date. I’m actually in a rom-com. And now I’m rambling. Fuck, this is way beyond embarrassing. Okay, I’m going to shut up and actually sing. This is The Rockrose and The Thistle.”

Jaskier took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing himself to think about the performance. About his intonation, about his breathing. About expressing every single emotion that he had poured into writing the song. Either this got him Eskel or it didn’t. He wasn’t going to do a bad performance to top it off. He played a note on the piano, hummed it to centre the pitch – and himself – and started to sing.

_When you call to me asleep  
_ _Up the ragged cliffs I scramble  
_ _A single thread hangs limply down  
_ _And I breathe not now, not now_

Jaskier darted a glance at his support section. Yennefer looked bored but that was her default expression when he performed so Jaskier wasn’t overly concerned. Triss and Ciri looked as though they were about five seconds from hearts-eyes and flailing, while Coën didn’t look too far behind them. Aiden flashed a supportive smile, while Lambert nodded.

He had this completely under control.

_And I find you all unwoven  
Trying desperately to sew  
I know the kindest thing  
_ _Is to leave you alone_

_When your seams have come unknitted  
_ _And you cry out to the sky  
I've run out of my words, my song  
_ _Just let me die, me die_

This was the bit that Jaskier had been unsure about. More so than other parts of the song. The bit that he had pushed with Lambert, checking if it wasn’t too much. He knew that there was more to Eskel, more that he didn’t know, more than people were admitting to. This was Jaskier’s attempt to say that he acknowledged that. That it didn’t scare him. That he accepted Eskel as he was, flaws and all.

_The rockrose and the thistle  
_ _Will whistle as you moan  
_ _I could try to calm you down  
_ _But I know you won't_

_All the pins inside your fretted head  
_ _And your muttered when’s and hows  
_ _All your mother's weaves and your father's threads  
_ _Let me rob them of you now_

Jaskier darted a glance in Eskel’s direction. He was still there which was something. Jaskier had known that he was taking a gamble with all of this and, so far, Eskel’s response didn’t imply that his gut instinct hadn’t been wrong. He hadn’t stormed out in disgust or horror or shame. If anything, Eskel seemed frozen in his seat, unable to move. Jaskier would take that. Eskel staying to the end was important.

_Cos I'll darn you back together  
_ _When you think that you're bereft  
_ _And you'll wail, you'll scream, but I'll never stop  
_ _Cos it's all that I have left_

_I wake and hear you calling  
_ _And up those cliffs I climb  
_ _And I find you with a thimble weeping  
_ _May I, I ask, may I?_

_And you gently gift it to me  
_ _Cos you've no clue how to sew_ _  
_ _And I know the kindest thing  
_ _I pray to god it's the kindest thing_

_I know the kindest thing  
Is to never leave you alone_

The last note in hung in the air. Jaskier had given many performances over the years – hundreds if not thousands – but not one of them had felt like this. The air felt electric. There was dead silence for what seemed like the longest time and then the applause that rang out was deafening. Completely overwhelming. Were it any other night, any other situation, Jaskier would be milking the applause for all it was worth.

As it was, every single part of him was focused on Eskel.

Jaskier took one slow step forward and then another and another, his feet feeling like they were made of lead, until he was stood in front of Eskel who had risen to his own feet. Those amber eyes that Jaskier loved so much were brimming with such emotion that Jaskier couldn’t name them all. Before he could say anything, Eskel reached out and took Jaskier’s hand, leading him into the relative privacy of the kitchen. Jaskier opened his mouth to say something – _anything_ – to break the tension but Eskel beat him to it.

“Songbird…”

“Eskel. If you’re going to say no, just tell me straight. I can handle it. The waiting is killing me.”

“ _Jaskier._ That song. Those words. How could I say no to that? No one has ever done something like that for me. I don’t deserve you, not even close, but will you let me take you out to dinner, songbird?”

Jaskier smiled, relief lightening everything, and leaned forward to press a kiss to Eskel’s scarred cheek. “Tell me when and where, dear heart. I’ll be there.”

~*~

A date. He actually had a fucking date. With Jaskier. Eskel was going out of his mind. What had he been thinking when he said yes to Jaskier? he had no idea what he was doing. Hell, this was his first date ever and how ridiculous was that.

“Fuck, fuck, fucking cock.” Eskel flipped through his meagre wardrobe, rejecting one item of clothing after another. “Nope, no, definitely not. Hell no.” He had never thought he was as bad as Geralt – who thought dark blue was a colour sufficiently removed from black – but maybe he was.

“Having fun there?”

Eskel swung around from scouring his wardrobe to see Lambert and Ciri stood in the doorway, his bastard of a brother laughing at him. “You’re laughing now, Lambchop but I’m going to remember this when you find your balls and finally ask Aiden out.”

“Whatever.”

Not trusting Lambert as far as he could throw him – which wasn’t far because the bastard was heavy for all that he was skinny – Eskel focused on Ciri. “Ciri, darling cub, help your favourite uncle out. What the hell do I wear?”

Eskel sat on the bed next to a sputtering Lambert as Ciri raked through his wardrobe, pulling out a few select items of clothing and throwing them at him. “Put those on. I won’t look.” Ciri waited a few minutes before asking her next question. “Where are you taking Jas anyway? It’d better be someplace good.”

“I have a table booked at Kaedwen,” Eskel grunted out as he pulled on the jeans and dress shirt that Ciri had picked out before looking at himself in the mirror. The cub definitely wasn’t blood-related to them; she actually had dress sense.

“The posh wine bar? Going all out, Eskel.”

“Hmm.”

“Good choice. Now,” Eskel arched an eyebrow as Ciri spun him around, eyeing him critically. “I know you’re my uncle, but Jas is important to me. You treat him well tonight. Do you understand me?”

Eskel gave his very best salute, more than a little amused, “yes, ma’am. Completely understood, ma’am.”

Eskel allowed himself one more look in the mirror before he acknowledged that he was never going to be truly satisfied so why was he bothering? He looked more than presentable so that was okay. Jaskier had definitely seen him wearing worse. The only thing that gave him pause were Ciri’s final words that probably weren’t even meant for him as he walked out of the room.

“Kaedwen? Isn’t that the bar where Papa met Yennefer?”

(~*~)

By the time that they had been seated at their table in Kaedwen, waiting to place their order, Eskel was convinced that this was the worst idea ever. None of that was to do with Jaskier. he was the only reason that Eskel was still there. Indeed, Eskel though that if his date had been with anyone else, he would have cancelled.

Jaskier had been waiting for him when Eskel arrived at Wanderlust, wearing a blue-green and gold paisley shirt that somehow made his eyes look even bluer. On anyone else, it would have looked like an eyesore but Jaskier managed to pull it off. Jaskier had been fiddling with his phone but looked up and brightened when he had seen Eskel approach, greeting him with a kiss to the cheek and a murmured “good evening, dear heart”. Eskel could feel eyes on them and knew that they were being watched, not just by the residents of Kaer Morhen but also by Coën as well as Triss and Yennefer no doubt. That didn’t stop him from reaching out tentatively, brushing his hand against Jaskier’s, a knot in his chest loosening when Jaskier wordlessly tangled their fingers together without missing a beat in the story he was telling.

Despite the promising start, it all went to shit as soon as they reached Kaedwen.

Eskel hadn’t really known what he was doing when he made the booking, but both Aiden and Triss had recommended Kaedwen as a nice place for a date, somewhere they had both visited before, and so Eskel had trusted them and booked it. it had all been okay until Ciri had made the comment about Geralt and Yennefer, which had soured things slightly; those two together was not something that Eskel liked thinking about.

Once they had arrived at Kaedwen, it swiftly became apparent to Eskel why Aiden and Triss had suggested it. It also made perfect sense why Yennefer had been a patron here. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place that Eskel would choose to visit. It was too brightly lit for a start. The industrial styling scheme did nothing but highlight the injuries on his face when Eskel would much rather hide them.

The other patrons hadn’t exactly helped. Jaskier and Eskel weren’t really dressed any differently to any of the other patrons, but Eskel couldn’t shake the feeling that he was so out of place. That he didn’t fit in. They were aiming for young professionals. People who were slick and chic. The exact opposite. He couldn’t help but feel that everyone was staring at him, at his face. Wondering why Jaskier was out with him. His skin felt as though it was crawling, too tight to be comfortable. Still, he tried to hold himself together for Jaskier as they were shown to their table only to find, once they were seated, that Jaskier wasn’t buying it at all.

“Dear heart, did you choose this location for us? Or did someone else suggest it?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because you have the same look that you had the first day that you came into Wanderlust. The one that screams how uncomfortable you are. You look as though you’re expecting everyone to turn on you and run you away.” Jaskier reached across the table and took Eskel’s hand, “are you absolutely positive that you want to be on a date with me?”

“100% without a doubt.”

“And who suggested this place?”

“Aiden and Triss.”

“Aiden who has probably been brought here by producers wanting to schmooze him and Triss who has been dating _Yennefer_ for years. Maybe not the best people to take advice from. Much like Lambert.”

“I’ve not done this before … the whole dating thing. I just wanted to make it perfect for you. Didn’t want to you to regret saying yes.”

“Darling Eskel, it would have been perfect anyway. So, if you hadn’t taken their advice, what would you have picked? Where would you have taken me?”

“Did you miss the part where I said I’m a dating novice? It would have been truly unoriginal. There’s a place called The Skellige. Not a dive bar like Nilfgaard or like this. You could probably describe it as a gastropub. Decent selection of IPA’s, good wine list and the best burgers I’ve eaten.”

“That sounds perfect. Come on then.”

Eskel was slightly bewildered, “you want to go to The Skellige? Not stay here?”

“Absolutely. You’re going to have to lead the way, though. I haven’t exactly been too sociable since I got here, and directions have never been my forte.”

Eskel remained sceptical even as Jaskier tugged him to his feet and out of the restaurant, telling their waiter that they no longer needed the table. From there, Eskel pulled himself together enough to lead them towards The Skellige. With every step that they took, he could feel that knot of tension dissipate, until he felt just as he had when he left home. He felt even better when they were seated in a booth in the familiar and dimly lit interior of The Skellige.

For all his fears that he was a novice at the dating thing, that he didn’t know what he was doing, Eskel needn’t have worried. Just as he had done in singing to Eskel to push him into asking him out, Jaskier took the lead. He led the conversation, chattering away about his day at Wanderlust until Eskel was relaxed and comfortable enough to start contributing to the conversation.

It was pleasant. No, it was more than that. It was everything that Eskel had wanted. Everything that he had jealously watched other couples share. He and Jaskier were like any other couple in The Skellige that night, eating, drinking and sharing conversation about their day. If he were to reach across the table and kiss Jaskier or brush sauce from his chin, nobody would bat an eyelid.

It was something of a revelation.

Loving Geralt came as easy as breathing to Eskel. It was everything else that wasn’t quite so simple. With Jaskier, it was the opposite. Almost. Everything else was easy, had been from the start. Loving him? Eskel was fairly sure he was well on the way with that.

It was that knowledge that gave him the confidence to reach out properly as they left the pub, tangling his fingers with Jaskier’s from the beginning, the two of them walking close enough for their shoulders to brush every second step. It was what gave him the confidence to lean in once they arrived back at Wanderlust, kissing Jaskier as he had wanted to from the first time he saw him. It was tentative at first and a little strange - it was the first time that Eskel had kissed someone other than Geralt – but it felt right. The taste, the feel, the scent of Jaskier was almost overwhelming and Eskel never wanted to stop kissing Jaskier. Jaskier surged against him, wrapping his arms around Eskel’s neck and it was one of the hardest things that Eskel had done to pull back.

“If you don’t think Lambert and Ciri have been hovering by the window all night waiting for us to come back then you’re an amateur.”

“You clearly don’t know me that well if you think having an audience will stop me.” Even as he spoke, Jaskier pressed a trail of butterfly kisses from the top of Eskel’s scars to the bottom, finishing with one on Eskel’s lips.

“Come upstairs with me, Eskel.”

“I … I’m … I don’…”

“I’m not saying come upstairs and have sex with me, Eskel. I’m saying come upstairs and spend the night. Snuggle. Nothing more. No sex. Not that I don’t want to have sex with you, but you know…”

Eskel couldn’t help but laugh at Jaskier’s stream of consciousness. He then proceeded to wait several long minutes as he pondered Jaskier’s offer, before telling himself to stop overthinking things and pressing a lingering kiss to Jaskier’s lips. “Lead the way, songbird.”


	7. All Within My Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eskel and Jaskier are happy until Geralt finally makes his appearance...

It was quite safe to say that sleeping with Eskel once - actual sleeping, no sex - had spoiled Jaskier for life. He was addicted. Never wanted to sleep alone again. For a start, Eskel radiated warmth like a space heater and, even better, he was a cuddler. The morning after their first date, Jaskier had woken up with Eskel completely wrapped around him, arms holding him close to that broad chest. It was everything Jaskier had wanted.

Luckily for him, Eskel seemed to have no problem with Jaskier’s addiction.

He didn’t stay every night, but he stayed enough that Jaskier missed him when he went back to Kaer Morhen. They slowly settled into a routine. Eskel would come over to Wanderlust every day, whether it was for coffee or lunch, he was there at some point. It was everything Jaskier had wanted. Everything he had hoped for. Hadn’t quite realised that he wanted. Once a week, Jaskier went over to Kaer Morhen to watch Eskel teach boxing which had led to Jaskier on his knees for a deliciously sweaty Eskel more than once and Eskel would come over to Wanderlust to play the piano, sometimes listening to Jaskier play. They also had a weekly date night and were regulars at The Skellige although they hadn’t attempted to return to Kaedwen and Jaskier still had to succeed at persuading Eskel to go dancing at Cintra.

One thing that Jaskier did love was that he was still discovering things about Eskel. He wouldn’t have said that Eskel was touch-starved – there were always plenty of hugs from Ciri and arms slung over his shoulders and hugs from Lambert – but he was definitely not used to a lover’s touch. That Jaskier found hard to understand because he had never encountered such a considerate lover. When Eskel’s attention was on him, there was no doubting it. It was intense and unwavering, a heady sensation. And one that Jaskier wanted Eskel to experience himself.

The first few times that they shared a bed, Eskel had refused to remove his t-shirt, not wanting Jaskier to see what lay beneath, no matter that Jaskier had seen it all before when Eskel had taught at Kaer Morhen. If, on the off chance that he agreed to remove his top, it was done under the cover of darkness and he flat out refused to share a shower or a bath. Jaskier couldn’t quite work out if Eskel’s self-esteem issues stemmed from his injuries or if he had always had them and getting Eskel to talk about himself or his previous relationships was like pulling teeth. In lieu of information, Jaskier determined that he would do all he could to get Eskel to comprehend just how much Jaskier wanted him and, when he had done that, worship Eskel as he deserved.

In some respects, it was easier than Jaskier expected. As though Eskel wanted it but was afraid to let himself have it. Jaskier just had to be persistent and that was something that he was exceptionally good at.

He started small.

As much handholding as possible. Always referring to Eskel as ‘dear heart’. As many hugs as feasible and all of the kisses. The kisses were one of the best things about being with Eskel. Hungry, passionate, tender and everything in between. Eskel’s kisses were all consuming and Jaskier was quite willing to succumb to them – and him. In return, Jaskier tried to reciprocate as much as possible. He also made a point of lavishing attention on the scars that traversed the right-hand side of Eskel’s face, dotting them with butterfly kisses on a daily basis. Jaskier also made a point of sliding his hand beneath Eskel’s top and running his fingers over the injury sites hidden beneath. He saw no reason why Eskel should be ashamed of them; they were a mark of his heroism, his inherent goodness and that should be celebrated.

The first time that Eskel voluntarily removed his shirt in the bedroom, some four weeks after their first date, Jaskier rewarded him with what he was determined would be the best blowjob that Eskel had ever received.

He didn’t get any complaints.

(~*~)

Jaskier could hear Eskel playing around on the piano as he tidied and cleaned the kitchen having finished his prep for the following day and he couldn’t help but love the domesticity of it. He wanted more of it. He wanted Eskel here permanently but, at the same time, Jaskier knew that if he moved too quickly, he ran the risk of spooking Eskel. At the same time, Jaskier was quite enjoying the slow burn relationship that they had going on. Yes, it was frustrating from time to time and he’d had to slope off for a quick wank every now and again, but it was somehow strangely satisfying.

And then Eskel went and ruined it by singing one of Jaskier’s songs. One of the ones that he had performed at an open-mic night. It wasn’t perfect but it was one of Jaskier’s own compositions and hearing it sung and played by Eskel, albeit hesitantly, was an instant aphrodisiac. Jaskier didn’t care that he hadn’t finished tidying up. Cahir could bitch all he wanted the following morning, Jaskier had other priorities.

Jaskier stalked out into the main area of Wanderlust, not caring that the blinds weren’t drawn and that everything they did was visible to passers-by. He slipped himself into Eskel’s lap, his arse hitting the piano keys as he bestowed a truly filthy kiss upon Eskel’s lips, grinding down as he did so.

"The piano? Really, songbird? I would have thought the piano was sacrosanct."

"Amateur," Jaskier scoffed. "The number of music students I know that _haven't_ got down and dirty on a piano is definitely in the minority."

"Well, if it's like that…"

Jaskier moaned as Eskel’s teeth found that spot just beneath his jaw, "it's definitely like that."

“Well, rite of passage that this may be, I think we should move somewhere more comfortable.”

Jaskier’s moan was nothing compared to the strangled sound that escaped him as Eskel stood, hefting Jaskier as though he weighed nothing. Jaskier had never been so turned on. He wrapped his arms and legs around Eskel and simply let himself be carried upstairs to his flat. 

Finally.

The instant that the flat door shut behind them, Jaskier wasted absolutely no time whatsoever. He stripped both himself and Eskel naked with some judicious manoeuvring so that Eskel didn’t have to put him down until they reached Jaskier’s bed. They had been here numerous times before, but this was different. This _felt_ different. As Eskel dropped him onto the bed, Jaskier maintained his grip so that Eskel followed him down, blanketing Jaskier’s body with his own.

What ensued was definitely the most emotional sex that Jaskier had ever experienced as well as the best. A litany of words, curses and pleas for more, fell from his lips as Eskel opened him up with fingers and tongue, coaxing Jaskier through one orgasm until he was hardening once more before he fumbled with the condom wrapper. Only then did Eskel slick up his cock and sheathe himself balls deep in Jaskier. Eskel had tried to insist on taking Jaskier on his hands and knees, but Jaskier wasn’t having any of it. He wanted to be able to see Eskel, to feel his bulk blanketing him and pressing him into the mattress. Jaskier spread his legs as wide as he could, wrapping them around the back of Eskel’s thighs, allowing himself to take each of Eskel’s thrusts as deep as possible as he clawed at Eskel’s back.

When Eskel came with a groan, kissing Jaskier deeply and wrapping a hand around Jaskier’s cock, stroking him through to his orgasm as Eskel ground his softening cock against Jaskier’s prostate, Jaskier knew that this was it.

He hadn’t just fallen, he had fallen hard and was well on his way to love, if he wasn’t there already.

(~*~)

“Songbird, you have to get up and open Wanderlust,” Eskel pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s shoulder, trying to wake him. It wasn’t easy. Neither of them had received much sleep after a further two rounds of sex lasting into the early hours of the morning.

“This wasn’t exactly how I was envisioning the morning after we slept together for the first time. I’d thought a bit of morning delight … I should have called Istredd and asked him to come in early.”

“Hindsight is a wonderful thing. If it makes you feel better, I’ll make it up to you later…” Eskel trailed his hand up and down Jaskier’s spine, a touch of nails forcing Jaskier’s back to arch into Eskel, grinding against his thigh.

“You’d better because what you’re doing right now is very pleasant and not exactly convincing me to get up.”

“Feels like you’re up already.” Eskel wrapped his hand around Jaskier’s cock as well as his own, moans ripping from both of them at the sensation. Jaskier tangled his hands in Eskel’s hair, pulling him forward into a series of messy kisses as Eskel jacked them off, varying the speed and pressure of his grip until Jaskier came with gasp when Eskel’s thumb brushed over the head of his cock, Eskel following him over the edge less than a minute later.

Once he had caught his breath, Jaskier dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, come covering his stomach and groin, feeling the ache of a night of extremely good sex. When he made it out of the bathroom, Eskel was still sprawled across the bed, the sheets barely covering him and Jaskier let out a groan, his cock twitching feebly in interest. “You know, you’re really not making this easy for me … lying there all naked and tempting in my bed.”

“It’s not a one-time thing. You’ll see it again.”

“I’d bloody better. Preferably as soon as possible.” It was hard to turn away but Jaskier did so, pulling on a pair of skinny jeans and a t-shirt before pulling on one final item of clothing without thinking.

“Is that my hoody?”

“No.” Jaskier tugged the deep red material emblazoned with the Kaer Morhen logo that Ciri had designed closer around him. The one that he had stolen because it smelt like Eskel. “Maybe?”

“Am I ever getting it back?”

“Only if I can swap it for a different one.” Jaskier leaned over to kiss Eskel and caught sight of the time, “Fuck! I am so late! Are you coming down to the shop or have you got to go over to Kaer Morhen?”

“I don’t have to be at the gym until mid-morning so I’m all yours for a few hours.”

“Good, you can sit at the counter and keep me company.”

“Maybe you can talk to Sabrina or Istredd when they get in, get them to open up tomorrow. We can indulge in that morning delight you spoke of...”

Jaskier felt his lips curve at Eskel’s words, “I think I can manage that.”

~*~

If Jaskier had thought Ciri was excited about Lambert’s return or Eskel’s, it was nothing to the reaction she displayed when they got the news that Geralt was returning. It had been one of the nights that Eskel hadn’t stayed over and Ciri had been positively bouncing off the walls when she came into Wanderlust and had been followed by the other occupants of Kaer Morhen – including Vesemir – all of them looking utterly exhausted. Jaskier had leant over the counter to receive his kiss from Eskel and tipped his head at Ciri, currently twirling through the tables.

“How long has she been like that?”

“Since last night when Geralt phoned and told us that he would be coming home.”

“On leave or permanently?” Jaskier couldn’t help but hope that it was the latter. He had seen how much Ciri loved having her uncles’ home, but even they couldn’t replace her papa. He also knew just how much Eskel and Lambert struggled and worried about Geralt being overseas without them.

“Look, I’m all for the concerned boss-employee relationship you’ve got here but we’re out of coffee, _she_ hasn’t slept all night and I have a goddamn business to run,” Vesemir growled out. “You can have your chit-chat once I’ve got my coffee.”

Jaskier was tempted to make a smart comment but, instead, he turned around and set the machines up for three triple-shot coffees. The instant that Vesemir’s was in his hand, he went stomping back across the street to where a group of men – Letho amongst them – were waiting for Kaer Morhen to open. Lambert and Eskel lingered, hanging around the counter coffees in hand, while Jaskier served the few customers and Ciri continued to express her delight, moving around Wanderlust in a blur of pastel skulls telling everyone who would listen that her papa was coming home. The first wave of the morning rush died down just as Cahir brought out his second batch of morning baking. Jaskier moved around plating up a muffin and some tea for Ciri before fixing breakfast and coffee refills for himself, Lambert and Eskel, taking a seat next to them at the counter.

“So, on leave or permanent?”

“Permanent. He phoned last night. Didn’t give us the details but he’ll be back home within a few days.”

Jaskier took a large gulp of coffee, “that doesn’t seem like something that happens normally.”

Both Eskel and Lambert grimaced, although it was the latter who spoke. “It’s not. There aren’t many reasons that they’d ship a soldier back so quickly, especially not one like Geralt. He wouldn’t say why they were discharging him though, not in front of Ciri, which means he probably did something stupid, but we’ll just have to wait until he gets back. Only good thing was that he promised Vesemir that he hadn’t been injured and none of us lie to Vesemir.”

Jaskier tried to be as up-beat as possible. “That’s good though, surely? I mean, the fact that he’s coming home and that he’s not injured. I know neither of you has been happy that he’s been over there by himself.”

“Yeah, it’ll be a relief to have Geralt where we can see him. We’ll give him some time to acclimatise and then put him to work. Turn Kaer Morhen into a proper family business.”

“What else have you got left? You’ve got boxing and personal training plus the gym. I mean, it’s not like you can get him to teach yoga.”

Jaskier laughed only for it to fade as Lambert and Eskel didn’t join in. “No. Yoga? You’re going to get _Geralt_ to teach yoga classes. You’re joking. You have to be.”

“You think I’m joking…” Lambert drained his cup and finished his breakfast, standing from his stool. “I’m going to corral the cub, try and get her into school. See you later, Buttercup.”

With Lambert and Ciri gone, Jaskier turned his attention to Eskel. His lover was quiet. Not quite concerningly so, but definitely quieter than usual. Jaskier placed a hand on his thigh, in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. Eskel had had a few moments since their first date but this felt different to Jaskier, this felt worrying.

“You’re awfully quiet. I would have thought that you’d be happy about Geralt coming home.”

“I am happy, of course I’m happy. Just … processing, I suppose.”

Jaskier wasn’t convinced but, before he could push any further, the second wave of morning customers started to come through the door, and he had no more time. All he could do was press a kiss to Eskel’s cheek, “you know where I am if you need to talk.”

Somehow, he had the feeling that Eskel wouldn’t be talking to him. Damn stubborn males of Kaer Morhen.

~*~

As the most senior officer of the returning soldiers, Geralt was the last one off the transport plane and the last one out of the barracks to where the families were waiting. Partially because it was the right thing to do, partially because it was expected of him and mostly because he was afraid of what was waiting for him - or not waiting, perhaps. The occupants of Kaer Morhen - or the wolf pack as Vesemir referred to them - had been shell-shocked when he had delivered the news that he was returning home. Ciri had been the first to recover, shouting in glee, while Vesemir had levelled him with a look that teenage Geralt had known all too well; the one that said they would be talking later. It had been the lack of visible response from Lambert and Eskel that had that small part of Geralt's brain wondering if there would be anyone waiting for him.

He had known his time was up after his last mission. He had been careless and reckless ever since Eskel’s encounter with the suicide bomber and subsequent return home but this mission he had been even more so, and the top brass had responded accordingly. By the time breakfast had started, Geralt had been summoned and he had been on a flight home two days later. Steeling himself, he shouldered his pack and walked out into the sunshine and where all the families were waiting.

It was a mass of happy families crying, laughing and hugging, all of them happy to be reunited. He almost didn't want to look for his own family, just in case, but he needn't have worried as a blonde blur hurtled towards him screeching "Papa!" at an almost painful pitch. Geralt dropped his pack in favour of catching Ciri and swung her around in his arms as though she was eight years old again and not nearly eighteen. She had a stranglehold on his neck, almost but not quite restricting her breathing and her legs were clamped around his waist like a vice. Geralt wrapped his arms tightly around her and pressed a kiss to her temple, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent that was pure Ciri.

When he opened them again, Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir were stood there and it was more than Geralt had hoped for. Still, he hesitated rather than moving over to them, beyond grateful when they moved forward instead. Vesemir clapped him on the shoulder and then Geralt shifted Ciri's weight slightly so that he could hold her securely and have his other arm free to hug Lambert. When Lambert moved, it was Eskel's turn. He paused fractionally, which gave Geralt the opportunity to look him over; it just wasn't the same through a screen. The gratitude that he felt that Eskel had survived was bone deep and he was pleased to say that, on the surface at least, Eskel looked as though he was well. That bear-like silhouette that Geralt knew as well as his own, the scars on his face merely adding to his rugged attractiveness. 

Finally, _finally,_ Eskel moved forward into Geralt's embrace and arms wrapped around him, helping him to support Ciri's weight and including her in the embrace. Geralt closed his eyes as the scent of Eskel filled his nostrils, more familiar but just as dear as Ciri's, and felt himself relax, even as he clutched them closer. Having these two - the two people in the whole world who meant the most to him - in his arms was everything he wanted and needed.

Surely, everything would be okay now? Geralt jumped as something nibbled at his elbow, ruining the moment for him. "Really Eskel? You brought the goat?"

"New normal. She goes where I go."

(~*~)

It was strange being back at Kaer Morhen and knowing that it was permanent. With the exception of brief forays back for leave, the Marines - and an assortment of barracks - had been his home since he was in his twenties. Then again, the Marines hadn’t really been home without Lambert or Eskel.

That was part of the reason that he had been so reckless on the final mission he had been sent on. It had been harder without Eskel and Lambert at his back, without them to ground him. He knew the other soldiers that he was sent out with, knew that they had been through the same training as them, but it didn’t make a difference. He didn’t trust them as he trusted Eskel and Lambert. He didn’t share the same bond with them. And to the three of them, in many respects, trust was more important than love. It was for that reason, his return home to Kaer Morhen hadn’t been everything that he hoped it would be.

Since his return, something had changed with Eskel. The dynamic was different, and it left Geralt feeling unsettled. Even if Ciri weren’t insisting on spending every single minute of the day glued to Geralt’s side like a limpet, Eskel was avoiding any possible chance of the two of them being alone together. Geralt wasn’t objecting to spending time with his whole family – the whole pack – but he missed the time with just Eskel.

The bond that he shared with Eskel was different to everyone else. There was such a wealth of emotion there, even if they never verbalised or acknowledged it. They had shared so much together, been each other’s first for so many different things. Geralt missed the time that they spent together like a missing limb or a hole in the head. It felt like Eskel was deliberately trying to avoid spending time with him, and Geralt was not okay with that.

This was nearly the same as it had been after Eskel’s injuries, when he had been invalided home and Geralt had had to stay in the desert. When Eskel had been doing everything he could to avoid speaking to Geralt. It was slightly better now, because Eskel was at least talking to him while still avoiding the chance of discussing certain topics. Eskel’s avoidance then had made Geralt feel disconcerted but now Geralt had an advantage; Eskel was in the same building as him. After nearly four days, he seized an opportunity when both Lambert and Vesemir were at Kaer Morhen and Ciri was at school to lock himself and Eskel inside the house to have a much-needed conversation. Unfortunately for Geralt, Eskel had no intentions of making things easy for him.

Neither did his bloody goat. The last thing that Geralt had expected was for Eskel to somehow end up with a therapy pet, let alone one that was a miniature goat. He had been introduced to Lil’ Bleater – and he still couldn’t believe that it had been Eskel who had come up with that name and not Lambert – on Skype and he had been ambivalent to the creature. If it helped Eskel then great. Unfortunately, once he got back to Kaer Morhen, it transpired that Lil’ Bleater absolutely hated Geralt. She adored Eskel and Ciri, tolerated Lambert and Vesemir but outright hated Geralt. She would eat his things, nip him if he got too close to Eskel and took any opportunity to headbutt him. It was why Geralt had used all of his Marine skills to get Eskel in the same room as him with the goat from hell locked out of said room.

“Was there a reason that you’ve locked us inside the house and hidden the keys?”

“There’s something going on with you. Something’s different.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Geralt.”

“You’ve never kept anything from me before, Esk.”

He chose to avoid the pang of guilt that shot through him at the one huge thing that he had been keeping secret from Eskel for years. What wasn't so easy was the way that Eskel looked at Geralt’s question, the way that he outright lied to Geralt for the first time ever.

“Esk, I just want to talk.”

The way that Eskel’s mouth twisted, the injuries on his face bunching as he did so, as he moved to the door – and the increasingly angry kicks of Lil’ Bleater on the other side - was like a knife to the heart but that was nothing compared to his subsequent words. “Trust me, Geralt, the irony of that statement hasn’t escaped me.”

~*~

Jaskier couldn’t help but be more than a little concerned once he knew that Ciri’s papa – the infamous Geralt – was back in the country and holed up in the little mews house behind Kaer Morhen. He had been looking forward to meeting the man ever since Ciri had started working for him but now? Jaskier wasn’t so sure. It had been no more than ten days since Ciri had bounced into Wanderlust with the news that her papa was coming home for good and ten days since Jaskier had felt a subtle shift in his relationship with not only Eskel, but Lambert as well. A shift that felt as though they were pulling away from him, as though they were keeping something from him.

Something big.

He had known that it had been too good to be true.

Jaskier had had everything he could have hoped for in his hands and it felt as though it were slowly slipping away. He hadn’t confessed his fears to anybody, not even Essi, because he was sure that they would tell me he was overthinking things and being overly dramatic. Part of him thought that he probably was overreacting, but a bigger part knew that he wasn’t. He was just convinced that there was something that Eskel was keeping from him. Not just Eskel, but Eskel was the important part. Eskel was the person that he was in a relationship with.

Not that you would know it from the last week or so.

For the first time since their first date, Jaskier had spent the whole week sleeping by himself. It had been the worst week's sleep that he had ever had. It would seem that he had become addicted to Eskel’s presence not just in his bed but in his life. Even on the nights that Eskel didn’t stay, they would talk until late and, more than once, Jaskier had fallen asleep to the sound of Eskel’s voice in his ear. It wasn’t just that, though. Every day, without fail, Jaskier would spend time with Eskel. Most days, it was Eskel coming into Wanderlust, although the time of day varied depending on what he had on at Kaer Morhen. Once a week, Jaskier would go and watch Eskel teach boxing and Eskel would return the favour by coming and sitting in Wanderlust once it was closed to listen to Jaskier play the piano. 

From the minute that Geralt’s plane had landed, that had all changed.

Kaer Morhen had remained open but all of the extra classes had been cancelled and Ciri had even asked if she could be let off her Saturday shift for the week. Lambert had come in a couple of times to grab sandwiches and cake for them all and Eskel had done the same. He had been distracted though. One of the things that Jaskier loved about Eskel was how, when his attention was on you, it was completely focused on you. It was intense and could be overwhelming, but it was also exhilarating. To suddenly be without it was brutal and the comparison palpable. Oh, Eskel gave him a kiss and asked him about his day, but he was absent and offered no information from Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier’s thoughts spiralled and, whilst his overactive imagination was a wonder when it came to song writing and creating fantastical cakes, now it created increasingly melodramatic reasons for Eskel to be avoiding him.

Finally, after eight days, a glance out of the window showed Jaskier that almost the entire contingent of Kaer Morhen’s wolf pack was headed in the direction of Wanderlust. His pride wouldn’t let him look as though he was waiting for Eskel so Jaskier busied himself with one of the many tasks that he had to take care of before closing. There were enough of them, but he still had no excuse when the door opened to not come around the counter. Ciri bounced over to him for a hug before retreating back to her papa’s side but, other than spoken greetings from Lambert and Eskel, that was it.

Jaskier tried not to read too much into the fact that Eskel had walked into Wanderlust for the first time since their first date and not kissed him. And not merely failed to kiss him, but barely looked at him. Their first kiss aside, Eskel wasn’t a huge fan of public displays of affection, but he had never failed to at least brush a kiss against Jaskier’s cheek. At least Wanderlust was virtually empty so there were as few observers to his humiliation as possible. Jaskier tried not to pay too much attention to the look of confusion on Ciri’s face or the sympathy on Lambert’s and forced a smile to his face, summoning every ounce of his performing skills to greet the residents of Kaer Morhen.

“Jas, this is my papa, Geralt. Geralt, this is my ... boss, Jaskier.”

Ciri's hesitance and her wording as she read the room said it all and made it so much harder for Jaskier to keep the smile on his face. He was trying so hard that he couldn't help but feel as though it was moving in the direction of being rictus. Ciri had been his and Eskel's biggest champion and had genuinely cheered when they finally sorted themselves out, so for her to simply introduce him as her boss, meant that she had also noticed that things were not right. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eskel flinch minutely and, for a second, he felt glad. Good. Let Eskel feel guilty. 

He held his hand out to shake as he spoke, "Nice to meet you, Geralt. I've heard a lot about you."

Geralt ignored the hand and simply gave a “hmm” that could be either noncommittal or disinterested, Jaskier wasn’t sure.

It was enough for Jaskier to focus on Geralt properly for the first time and he promptly choked on air. Oh fuck, this wasn’t fair. So not fair. Geralt was slightly taller than Eskel but not quite as broad. His white hair - nearly the exact same shade as Ciri's - was cut military short and he had similar eyes to Eskel, although Geralt's were more gold than amber. He was also giving off the distinct impression of someone who didn't want to be here and was only doing it because he had been forced to.

Neither his disdain, nor the fact that Eskel was stood _right there_ , stopped the curl of lust and want coiling in the pit of Jaskier’s belly.

This was not good.


	8. I'm Weak and I'm Wanting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is unhappy and Geralt continues to make bad decisions.

Things didn’t exactly improve with Geralt.

After their first rather inauspicious meeting, Jaskier had assumed that he wouldn’t see the man again. That he had come to satisfy a curiosity about the man his family spoke of, the man that employed his daughter. What Jaskier definitely didn’t expect was to see Ciri bounce out of the mews house for the bus to school, closely followed by Geralt who gave her a hug and then walked into Wanderlust rather than heading for Kaer Morhen. Geralt didn’t stop at the counter to place an order. He merely moved to a seat just below the mural and simply sat there.

Jaskier was preoccupied with serving customers but, even so, he couldn’t help but notice how Geralt was drawing the stares of the other customers and how more than one of the more nervous patrons were giving him a wide berth. When there was a momentary lull, Jaskier made his way over.

“Geralt. Much as I’m loving the way you’re sitting in the corner and brooding, you’re scaring off my customers. At the very least, you could scowl less and order breakfast.”

“I’ve had breakfast; protein shake.”

“The infamous Kaer Morhen diet strikes again. Unacceptable. I’ll bring you something over. How do you take your coffee?”

“Black.”

“Of course you do. Back in a tick.”

Jaskier picked one of Cahir’s more savoury pastries and poured a mug of black coffee, carrying it over to Geralt. “One black coffee and one pastry. The blandest things we sell although don’t tell Cahir I said that about his baking. But, I can guarantee that, bland or not, they’ll both be the best-tasting thing you’ve ever put in your mouth.”

Geralt just arched an eyebrow, “hmm.”

Jaskier knew that this was Ciri’s papa, but he couldn’t help but think that maybe Letho being in Wanderlust for breakfast would be more pleasant. This certainly couldn’t be the man that he had heard so much about it. If it was, then Jaskier was missing something huge. “You haven’t been put to work at Kaer Morhen yet? Lambert must be slacking.”

“Lambert’s not in charge of Kaer Morhen, Vesemir is.”

Jaskier scoffed, “what have you lot done for the last ten days? You don’t seem to have talked to each other, at least not about anything significant. Well, I hope that Lambert informs you of his plans here, just so I can see your face. More coffee?”

Geralt grunted in response and Jaskier shrugged his shoulders, “suit yourself.”

Unwilling to waste any more time being nice to the man – at least today – Jaskier made his way back to the counter and the second wave of breakfast customers. When Sabrina turned up mid-morning, he moved into the kitchen to start the baking for the lunch/afternoon rush. As irritating as Geralt had been, Jaskier did his best not to dwell on it and instead focus on the batter for the lemon drizzle cake that he was making. Thinking about Geralt wasn’t going to help his business, so what was the point.

Jaskier had just brought through the first of the bakes when he heard a familiar voice. One that automatically made his day that little bit better.

“He’s a regular ray of sunshine, isn’t he?”

“Aiden!” Jaskier whirled around, a grin lighting up his face as he saw Aiden and Coën stood at the counter. “When did you get back?”

“Last night. Late last night.”

“And we were one of the first places you came. I’m touched.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t be. Much as I love you, I’m here for your coffee and your baked goods. Dig food is shite. I was also hoping to see someone else. Has Kitten been in yet?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you. That ray of sunshine over there is Lambert’s older brother.”

“That’s Geralt? Interesting. Now, come on, I’ve been surviving on little more than cereal bars for the best part of five weeks. I need one of Cahir’s latest creations, your biggest slice of cake and all of the gossip on you and the local area’s scariest looking teddy bear.”

Jaskier couldn’t stop his face from falling at the mention of Eskel. “Not sure how much gossip there is.” To Aiden’s relief, Aiden didn’t push, he promptly changed the subject.

“Then you can give me all the news on the goings on here and if you just happen to talk the most about Kitten, that would be absolutely fine.”

“Not giving up on Lamb then?”

“Nope. I’m happy playing the long game; I’ll reap the rewards eventually.”

“You almost make him sound feral. Like a rather dangerous cat that has been left to fend for itself for too long and you have to tame it, convince it that it deserves to be loved.”

“Is he not feral?” Aiden arched an eyebrow at Jaskier, “wasn’t it the same with Eskel? Approach with caution and great perseverance. The men of Kaer Morhen require time and patience but it pays off in the end.”

Jaskier laughed but it sounded oddly brittle to his ears. He was actually relieved when Lambert and Eskel walked in because Lambert promptly drew the attention of the whole of Wanderlust when he saw Aiden and promptly tripped over Lil’ Bleater.

Any laughter at Lambert’s hissed “for fuck’s sake, Bleater, you little cockblock” swiftly dissipated at Geralt’s comment.

“You let that thing in here?”

Jaskier looked at Geralt askance at his words, “she’s Lil’ Bleater, not that thing. And of course I let her in here. Even she weren’t medically approved, she’s better behaved than some of my customers.” At his last sentence, Jaskier arched a pointed eyebrow at Geralt. The mans face remained impassive but Jaskier felt a little gratified to see the faintest tinge of red on his ears.

“We’ll take our order to go, Buttercup.”

“I think that’s for the best. The usual?” Jaskier made his way to the counter, stopping to scritch Lil’ Bleater behind the ears where she sat in Eskel’s arms.

“Enough for Vesemir and Geralt as well, please, not that I’m sure this fucker deserves your food.”

As Jaskier set about putting the order together, he could just hear Lambert berating Geralt quietly ‘fucking hell, Geralt, did you have to be such a complete and utter arsehole? I get that you’re pissed off at the moment, but could you not take your shitty mood out on Jaskier who – just so you know – everyone in Kaer Morhen loves’.

Whatever else Lambert said was too quiet for Jaskier to hear clearly. Instead, he simply focused on getting the order ready as quickly as possible so that Wanderlust would be free of the men of Kaer Morhen. He had the money in the till and the food in Lambert’s hand in almost record timing. Anything to avoid any further awkwardness or Jaskier running his mouth.

What Jaskier wasn’t expecting was for Eskel to linger behind, hovering almost hesitantly. Part of him was reluctant to speak to Eskel, especially considering the way that he had been treated over the last week or so, but the larger part of Jaskier was weak and he missed Eskel. That didn’t mean he was going to make it easy though.

“Did I forget something off your order?”

“Songbird…”

“Or have you actually remembered that I exist? That you have a lover?”

To his credit, Eskel looked guilty as hell. “I’m sorry. Things have been … strange and difficult since Geralt got back. Will you let me take you out to dinner? Tonight?”

Jaskier pursed his lips. He wanted to say yes, he wanted to tell Eskel to fuck off. Instead, he gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“Pick me up at 7pm and we’re going somewhere that isn’t The Skellige.”

~*~

Given everything, Jaskier had half-expected to receive a message from Eskel cancelling for the evening. Especially given how skittish Eskel had been recently and how Jaskier had insisted on going somewhere that wasn’t the Skellige. So, he was pleasantly surprised when, at 7pm, he stepped outside of Wanderlust to see Eskel waiting for him in a maroon shirt that clung so perfectly to his shoulders and biceps that Jaskier just wanted to stroke them. Lil’ Bleater even looked as though she had been groomed for the occasion.

Eskel seemed strangely tense until they had got out of sight of Kaer Morhen and then, once they were past Aretuza, he reached out and took Jaskier’s hand, twining their fingers together as Lil’ Bleater pranced along at their side. It was almost as though the last two weeks hadn’t happened. Jaskier looked around with curiosity as Eskel led them through streets that he didn’t recognise; apparently Eskel had taken Jaskier at his word and they weren’t going to The Skellige.

“Where are we going?”

“Hmm? Some place that was recommended to me. Oxenfurt. It’s new.”

“This isn’t going to be a repeat of Kaedwen, is it?”

Eskel snorted, “no. Coën recommended this place and they said I was allowed to bring Bleater when I phoned earlier.”

“Well, that sounds acceptable.”

When they arrived, Oxenfurt was more than acceptable. It had a similar vibe to The Skellige while being more like Kaedwen in appearance. Jaskier was immediately enraptured by the artwork on the walls and he liked that Eskel was visibly comfortable there, even more so when their waiter brought a bowl of water for Lil’ Bleater.

They made small talk through their drinks and the starters, mostly about Ciri and Lambert’s plans for Kaer Morhen. Gossip about the local area and people. How exasperating Lambert and Aiden were. The whole time, they were aware that they were avoiding the subject that they both wanted to talk about the most. Jaskier wasn’t expecting Eskel to take the initiative but he did, just as their main course arrived.

“You haven’t been in Kaer Morhen recently.”

“Yes, well, I wasn’t entirely sure that I was welcome. Besides, I could say the same about you and Wanderlust. This morning was the first time I’ve seen you in weeks. Anyone would think you were trying to avoid me.”

“Songbird…”

Jaskier took a large glug of his wine. Liquid courage and all that. “Eskel, do you even want to be with me?”

“How can you even ask me that?”

“Quite easily. Eskel, I’ve barely seen you for a fortnight and, when I did, you could barely look at me. It isn’t that difficult to jump to conclusions.”

“Jaskier, I want to be with you. I promise you that. More than that. It’s just …”

“Complicated.” Jaskier pursed his lips. “You know, Triss said that to me. Weeks ago. Back when I was debating whether or not to start pursuing you. She said that you were gay and that you weren’t in a relationship but that it was complicated. Ciri was devastated; she loved the idea of you and I together. She brought in the big guns with Lambert. Was Triss right?”

When Eskel hesitated, Jaskier shook his head. “Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear, tell me the truth.”

“It’s complicated but I’m not in a relationship other than with you. I promise you that, Songbird.”

“Lambert said the same thing. It should worry me more than it does.” Jaskier pushed his plate away, not sure he could eat anything more. It was a shame because the dessert menu had looked good. “I’m going to trust you, but I have one more question. Is the reason it’s complicated something to do with Geralt? You don’t have to say more than yes or no but I deserve an answer.”

Eskel hesitated for a long time and when the answer finally came, Jaskier already knew what it was going to be.

“Yes.”

~*~

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Essi…” Jaskier tried to placate his rather irate best friend. He had the phone propped up against the wall so he could see the screen and still continue with his prep work. He hadn’t been certain about sharing what had happened with Essi but he needed to talk to someone, and he hadn’t felt right dragging Triss - and inevitably Yennefer- into things and potentially making things awkward for her. So, he had spilled everything that was happening with Eskel – or not happening – with his closest friend. Like the true friend that she was, Essi was apoplectic on his behalf.

“No, this is ridiculous. I can’t believe you’re still trying to defend him after the shitty way that he treated you.”

Jaskier sighed heavily, “it’s not that I’m trying to defend him, I just can’t shake this feeling that I don’t know everything. That’s there’s more to this and I just don’t have all of the facts yet.”

“Jask…”

“I know you think I’m insane and swayed by sex and being in a relationship for the first time in ages but I’m not, I promise. I just … it took me so long to get to the point where I could flirt with him and he actually felt confident enough to ask me out. And then once we were dating, it took so long for him to feel like he deserved affection and attention. It just feels wrong to give up at the first little blip.”

“You’re too soft-hearted, Jask. Do you need me to come up there?”

“What? No!” At Essi’s look, “I’m not saying it wouldn’t be lovely to see you and have you here with me, but you don’t _need_ to come. Besides, you have those gigs this week and next; you’ve worked so hard to get them and I won’t have you missing them on my account.”

Essi didn’t look convinced. "Okay, but you just need to see the word. I swear Jask, I don’t want you to get hurt over this. He’s not worth it. Nobody is worth that. I don't care how good he is in bed, if you need me to get rid of him, you just say the word."

"Is that Essi Daven? Jas, why is Essi Daven offering to kill Uncle Eskel? She is offering to kill him, isn't she?"

“Fuck!” Jaskier spun around at the sound of Ciri’s voice, splattering chocolate ganache over the countertops as he did so. “Ciri! How did you get in?”

“Uncle Lambert taught me how to pick locks.”

“Of course he did. That's not normally something you would teach children, you know. How are you not feral with some of the things they taught you?" Jaskier couldn’t help but think about the conversation he had had with Aiden and Coën and the parallels.

"Grandpa. And Yennefer."

"And that is a terrifying thought."

“You didn’t answer my question. Is that Essi Daven?”

“Yes. Ciri, meet Essi, musician and songstress extraordinaire. Essi, this is Ciri. Niece of Eskel and my favourite employee.”

Jaskier watched in horror as the two of them proceeded to chatter away at each other like magpies, as though they had known each other for years. “Oh god, this world is not ready for the day that you two meet in person.”

Ciri giggled, “then you won’t want to add Yennefer into the mix as well?”

Jaskier blanched, “fuck no. Look Essi, I’m going to go but I’ll speak to you soon.”

“You’d better. And my offer is open-ended. Feel free to accept whenever. Nice to meet you Ciri. Love you, Jask.”

“Love you too, darling. Bye!”

As his phone gave the beep signalling the end of the call, Jaskier turned his attention to Ciri. “So, is there a reason that you’re breaking into your place of employment after hours?”

"What's going on with you and Uncle Eskel?"

Jaskier sighed, "honestly, kiddo? I have no sodding clue."

“He’s been acting so strangely for the last few weeks, ever since we got the phone call from Papa saying that he was coming home. Uncle Eskel is almost like he was when he got home, except he’s only strange with you and Papa. He’s still talking to the rest of us. It just doesn’t make sense.”

"Do you not feel weird having this conversation with me? I mean, he's your uncle…"

"He's my uncle but you mean a lot to me too, Jas. You know how much I wanted you two to get together and then the two of you were so happy together and so perfect. And then suddenly you’re not. You’re trying to put on a happy face at Wanderlust but you’re not singing and Uncle Eskel is always sad and spends all of his time in Kaer Morhen.”

Ciri got up and started to pace the kitchen, streaks of the rainbow flapping around her face in her annoyance. “Papa’s involved somehow. And I don’t care if he is my papa, if this is his fault then I’ll kick his arse. Uncle Eskel’s been showing me how.”

Jaskier couldn’t help the surge of fondness for his fierce little wolf cub, “Ciri, you can’t blame your Papa.” Even as the words left his mouth, Jaskier couldn’t help but agree with her. At least a little bit.

“I can. It’s his fault. You were both happy – sickeningly so, according to Uncle Lambert – and then Papa came home, and everything went wrong. I feel so guilty because I wanted Papa back so much, even though I had Uncle Eskel and Uncle Lambert, but I’ve got him back and everything’s gone wrong for everyone else.” Ciri’s fury faded and her face crumpled, “it’s not fair.”

"Oh, Ciri. Come here, kiddo.”

Ciri needed no encouragement to sink into Jaskier’s hug, wrapping her arms around him like a vice as her breathing hitched. She wasn’t quite crying but not far off and Jaskier decided not to say anything, simply wrapping his arms around her and humming under his breath. It was only when her breath evened out that Jaskier pulled back so that he could see her face. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Ciri slumped against him, all glum and flushed with her upset, and he couldn't help but be touched by the fact that she had come to check on him. Couldn’t help but feel guilty that she was so upset by something involving him. Looking around the kitchen, his gaze alighted on the ganache he had abandoned when Ciri had made her presence known. It was probably salvageable but, at this moment, Jaskier could think of a better use for it.

“However we’re feeling, whatever’s going on and whoever’s fault it is, there’s nothing we can do right now to change any of it. So, I vote we eat the ganache out of the bowl … you in?”

Ciri smiled weakly and squeezed Jaskier tighter, “well, if you insist.” 

“Absolutely. You get the spoons, I’ll get the bowl.”

~*~

Jaskier had been so utterly convinced that Lambert was lying about Geralt teaching yoga that it was a definite surprise to hear two of his customers talking about the new yoga class they were planning on attending. He knew that he was stereotyping, but men built like Geralt were not what he usually thought of when it came to yoga teachers. His mental picture of yoga teachers fell into one of two camps; the hippy type in mix-matched tie-dye fabrics who talked a lot about spirituality or the type who had a prominent social media presence and wore skin-tight leggings and some sort of bra top. Geralt was neither of those things but that sent Jaskier into a spiral of increasingly filthy thoughts of Geralt in skin-tight leggings and a tank top. Inevitably, that also led to thoughts of Eskel and guilt and Jaskier resolutely focused his thoughts on the lime and pistachio cake he was experimenting with. He managed to put it to the back of his mind until Triss came in, her usual bubbly self.

“Jaskier! Are you going to come and join our group outing to Geralt’s yoga class?”

“You’re going to that?”

“Of course! There was a place that we used to go to but Fringilla introduced us to it and once she left Aretuza it all became a bit too awkward. We haven’t managed to find anywhere we’ve liked since then. Besides, Geralt teaching yoga? That’s worth the class price alone, even if it is awful.”

Jaskier had to concede that she had a point. “I did yoga at uni. I quite enjoyed it.”

“See! And it’s good for us.”

“Who else is going?”

“Coën, Aiden, Yenn and I. It’ll be fun.”

Jaskier wasn’t entirely sure about that but, the following evening, once he had closed up Wanderlust, he dug out his old yoga pants and a Kaer Morhen t-shirt that had once belonged to Eskel. He still wasn’t convinced but, given the number of people streaming into Kaer Morhen, Lambert was clearly onto a winner. He heard more than a few muttered comments about how it was looking much more presentable than it had been for years and couldn’t help but be proud at seeing Ciri’s design on the newly decorated signage out the front.

Once they got inside yet another cavernous room that Jaskier hadn’t been aware existed within Kaer Morhen, Jaskier found himself a spot towards the back of the room. Younger women and a few men eagerly took up the front rows, while everybody else filtered into spaces behind them. Lambert was hovering by the door and Jaskier couldn’t help but smile at the strangled sound he made when Coën and Aiden walked in, the latter with a rolled up yoga mat over his shoulder and sporting skin-tight leggings and a sleeveless shirt.

There was no sign of Geralt yet but Jaskier couldn’t help but notice when Eskel walked through the door. He had the bearing of a man heading to the scaffold. This wasn’t the confident man that Jaskier had worked to build up. The man that had sung in Wanderlust or who taught boxing every week in this very building. This wasn’t even the man that had taken Jaskier to Oxenfurt not three days past. This was almost the same Eskel that had first walked into Wanderlust, hiding himself in baggy sweatpants and a loose Kaer Morhen hoody. Jaskier was about to walk over to him, when Yennefer and Triss made their entrance followed almost immediately by Geralt.

Jaskier wasn’t entirely sure who drew the most attention.

Yennefer, a vision in all black skin-tight designer yoga-wear from head to toe, Triss showing off every curve beside her. And then Geralt. In sweatpants that clung to his thighs and a royal blue tank top that had clearly seen better days but showed off his biceps to perfection. Jaskier didn’t know where to look. Every direction was a feast for the senses.

Jaskier focused his attention on Eskel. And Geralt because he wasn’t blind, and this was a yoga class with Geralt as the instructor. If he was honest, he didn’t really know where to look so he settled for splitting his attention between the two of them. Inevitably, that meant comparisons.

One thing was for certain; Geralt was a bloody awful teacher. Oh, he looked great and he clearly knew his stuff when it came to yoga, but he hadn’t seemed to grasp the actual concept of teaching. Much as in Wanderlust, he seemed to communicate mostly in grunts and hmm’s, neither of which helped people grasp the movements and positions that they were trying to emulate. It was a direct contrast to the way that Eskel taught his boxing classes, where he talked through everything in detail and then took questions to confirm things.

The teaching abilities might have gone to Eskel but in terms of looks, they were very much equal. The attractive genes really had gone to the wolves of Kaer Morhen. It was almost unfair how attractive the three brothers were and in such different ways as well. Really, it was a veritable wealth of riches.

Lambert, with his riot of red curls.

Eskel with his broad shoulders and kind smile that belied the scar on his face.

Geralt with his military haircut and biceps roughly the same size as Jaskier’s thighs.

Jaskier had no sexual interest in Lambert at all but, just for a moment, he allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to have both Eskel and Geralt in bed together. Preferably with him as a third. To be able to watch them entwined together, to have their attention focused entirely on him.

Of course, just as that idea materialised in his head, Jaskier heard Yennefer mutter a comment.

“You know that thing I do with my tongue you like so much? Geralt was the one who taught me it … the man is never going to be verbose, but his grasp of yoga did wonders for our sex life.”

How could he have forgotten that Geralt had dated Yennefer? Was that really the kind of woman that Geralt went for? Terrifying? Who was he kidding? Of course, Geralt went for women like Yennefer. Why wouldn’t he? And, of course, he was straight. Or at least, Jaskier assumed so. Not that it mattered what Geralt’s sexuality was. Jaskier was lucky enough to have Eskel – assuming he did have Eskel – and that was enough for him. Why was he wasting his time pining after something that was not only unachievable but that he didn’t need?

(~*~)

Geralt’s yoga class had been just as torturous as Eskel had expected it to be. Honestly, Lambert was an absolute bastard for suggesting it. Even if it had given them some of the highest class numbers ever. At least it wasn’t just torturous for him; Lambert had given a strangled sound when Aiden had walked through the door, rolled up yoga mat slung over his shoulder, and actually collapsed to his mat when Aiden moved into downward-facing dog for the first time.

It gave Eskel a temporary reprieve.

Most of the time, Eskel tried to forget that Geralt was actually damn good at yoga. Mostly because it resulted in a persistent hard-on which then led to reminders that Geralt wasn’t actually his – that they hadn’t defined what it was between them – which then led to depression. All around, not the best scenario. Still, masochist that he was, Eskel wasn’t exactly going to miss Geralt’s first lesson.

Of course, the first person that he had seen was Jaskier. In yoga pants and a t-shirt that had to be Eskel’s given how it bagged at the neck and showed off teasing hints of Jaskier’s chest hair. Because apparently the sight of Geralt in sweats and that damnable blue tank top wasn’t enough. And of course that sent Eskel into a spiral because those yoga pants left nothing to the imagination, clinging to Jaskier’s shapely thighs and arse. They also brought a flood of memories to the forefront of Eskel’s memory. How that arse felt in his hands, how Jaskier would wind those thighs around Eskel’s hips, encouraging him to thrust deeper and harder. Thankfully one look at Yennefer and the smug smile on her face killed his erection pretty much immediately.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise that Geralt wasn’t the most charismatic of teachers. He was exceptionally good at yoga, but he simply didn’t have the personality to be a teacher; he wasn’t even able to put on an act, much like Eskel did when he was teaching his boxing classes. Not that anyone seemed to care. There were plenty of young (and middle-aged) women - and a fair few men - that had probably never heard of Kaer Morhen before, all of them hanging on every single word that Geralt uttered. Not that there were many of them; Geralt was definitely favouring demonstration as opposed to explanation. They were going to have to work on that.

More than once, Eskel caught sight of Jaskier staring at Geralt with an expression that, thanks to hindsight, he remembered as the one that Jaskier had directed towards him before they had started going out. A look of interest. Eskel could hardly blame him. He would pick Geralt over himself as well. For his part, Eskel didn’t know where to look; Jaskier or Geralt. Both were equally appealing.

As the class finished and Geralt was swarmed by what Ciri would have termed ‘yummy-mummies’, Eskel toyed with the idea of going to speak to Jaskier and maybe apologise for the awkwardness that had been dinner at Oxenfurt. Eskel had been so close to telling Jaskier everything but fear had stopped him and, instead of salvaging his relationship and going up to Jaskier’s flat above Wanderlust and spending the night with his lover, Eskel had returned home to his childhood bed alone except for Lil’ Bleater. Before Eskel could make his way across the room, he saw Jaskier leave with Yennefer and Triss and abandoned his plans. Instead, he decided that it was as good a time as ever to do an inventory of the boxing gloves and pads.

Eskel was half-way through his counting when he heard the door click shut and the storeroom was plunged into semi-darkness. Before he could say anything, he felt familiar hands on his hips, spinning him around and he was assaulted by all things Geralt. This was the closest that he had allowed Geralt to get ever since Geralt had returned. The closest that he had allowed himself to get to Geralt. He ignored the fact that this wasn’t exactly his choice. Before he could say anything, Geralt was crowding him up against the wall and claiming Eskel’s lips, licking into his mouth without ceremony. Eskel found himself relaxing and responding into the familiarity of it all before he found himself comparing it to the way Jaskier kissed him. Geralt’s kiss was harsh, bruising and biting, while Jaskier’s was softer but no less passionate, almost worshipful. Reality rushed over him like a bucket of cold water and Eskel pulled back quickly.

“What the fuck, Geralt?”

His mind whirling, Eskel pushed Geralt away from him. Something that he had never done, not since he was a young boy.

“I’m sorry, Geralt. I can’t do this. Not now.”


	9. With You I Could Summon the Gods and the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaskier gets a talking to before Jaskier and Eskel actually - _finally_ \- talk to each other.

The problem was, once Jaskier allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to have both Eskel and Geralt in bed together, it was almost impossible to get stop wondering about it. Not even the reminder that Geralt and Yennefer had had a thing at one point was enough to put a halt to the fantasies.

They were good fantasies.

For one thing, he had good material to work with. Both men were ridiculously attractive and provided such a delicious contrast to each other. Eskel with his dark hair and more olive-toned skin, Geralt looking like he had been sculpted from the finest piece of marble. The two of them together would be a work of art. Worthy of being immortalised. He wanted to see them entwined together, kissing, touching, bodies moving together in that timeless dance. Wanted to see them fuck, wanted to see them make love.

He wanted to be there with them.

Jaskier knew first-hand the scars that Eskel’s body carried and he assumed that Geralt’s body would be similarly marked. He wanted to trace them as he had Eskel’s; with fingers, lips and tongue. Jaskier was not someone who was content to remain in the same sexual position every single time. Sometimes he wanted to fuck, sometimes he wanted to be fucked. Thankfully, Eskel had been receptive to that and, of a similar mind. Jaskier found himself wondering if Geralt would be the same.

He wondered if Geralt would be as willing to receive cock as he assumed he would be to give it. Imagined Geralt on his knees in front of Jaskier, taking his cock willingly. Geralt sucking down Jaskier’s cock while taking Eskel’s in his delectable arse. Eskel with Jaskier’s cock in his mouth and Geralt’s in his arse. Jaskier in between the two of them, taking both cocks at the same time.

The options were endless and torturous. Those featuring the three of them were his favourite, but it wasn’t as though any of them were bad or boring. Just a shame that they would probably never exist in anything other than Jaskier’s fantasies.

~*~

The fantasies didn't make things easy for Jaskier whenever he saw Eskel. If anything, they made it harder. Because every time he saw Eskel, Jaskier’s brain helpfully superimposed the images from his dreams and his fantasies over him. And he was seeing Eskel _a lot._

Jaskier wouldn't go so far as to say that things between himself and Eskel were back to normal but they were getting there. Eskel was certainly making much more of an effort. He was texting or calling more, he was popping into Wanderlust for coffee and/or cake on a daily basis and had even stayed the night a couple of times. The way that Eskel interacted with him, the way that he touched Jaskier, was no different to how it had been before Geralt’s return. The way that Eskel was behaving towards Jaskier was categorically not the problem. In fact, Jaskier was revelling in having Eskel around again, not to mention the time that they were spending together. The only person who was almost as ecstatic than either Eskel or Jaskier was Ciri. The first time that she saw them kiss again in Wanderlust, they had both been a little afraid that she would spontaneously combust in her excitement. Of course, Lil’ Bleater also seemed delighted, but she was a goat.

The downside to this was that there was always the spectre of Geralt hanging over them.

Because he was, very much so. Even in his delight at having Eskel back, Jaskier hadn’t failed to notice the very specific pattern to when he saw Eskel. He only ever saw Eskel when Geralt was otherwise occupied. That meant random times when Geralt was teaching his daytime yoga classes which were only slightly less popular than his evening ones, when he was out with Lambert or Ciri and in the evenings, when Eskel sneaked out. It left Jaskier feeling unsettled.

Why was Eskel behaving like this? What was it about Geralt? Jaskier understood that Lambert, Geralt and Eskel were incredibly close, however he was a little concerned by the lengths that Eskel seemed to be going to. Eskel had said that it was complicated with Geralt but Jaskier was starting to think that he had been downplaying the situation.

Was Geralt homophobic? Was that the problem? Jaskier knew that Eskel hadn’t had a stellar dating history prior to him – was that because he wasn’t out to Geralt? Was Eskel hiding his sexuality from the man? It didn’t seem likely to Jaskier, especially considering that Lambert was also queer, but you never could be 100% certain.

Then again, perhaps Geralt wasn’t homophobic. Perhaps it was simply Jaskier that Geralt had a problem with. They hadn’t got off to the best of starts but Jaskier had hoped that things would get better and, if they hadn’t, that wasn’t down to his lack of effort.

All in all, it resulted in one very confused Jaskier.

He loved Eskel. That wasn’t in question. He was _in_ love with Eskel. Eskel was the man of Jaskier’s dreams without Jaskier realising it. However, he didn’t want to Eskel to be with him at the cost of Eskel’s relationship with Geralt. He didn’t want Eskel to feel torn between himself and Geralt. Even if Jaskier was torn between Eskel and Geralt. Well, not really. But Jaskier was conflicted over the attraction that he felt for Ciri’s papa. He knew that it was normal to feel attraction to people when you were in a monogamous relationship, but this was something more than that. It wasn’t that Jaskier was unsatisfied with Eskel, it was just that he felt there was something going on with Geralt that needed to be discussed, needed to be explored. Something that needed to be understood by both of them before he and Eskel could be happy. Not that Jaskier had any clue how to broach the subject which meant that avoidance was the name of the game.

This was not what he had envisaged when he had opened Wanderlust.

~*~

Jaskier was in the process of trying to summon up the enthusiasm to organise the next open mic night when Yennefer swept into the shop in her usual manner. “Yennefer, unusual to see you here at this time. What can we get for you?”

“You’re pining, puppy and I’m bored of it. It’s affecting the quality of your products.”

“Yennefer, what are you talking about?”

Yennefer ignored Jaskier’s question and simply seized him around the wrist and started to march him out of the shop, barking orders over her shoulder. “Sabrina, you’re in charge of closing up. I’m stealing your boneheaded boss.”

Jaskier could do nothing but follow along as Yennefer led him to not Aretuza, but a very sporty black convertible.

“If you’re kidnapping me, I’m going to scream. Someone will save me.”

“Very funny, puppy. You’re coming to our flat. I want to talk to you.”

“That sounds ominous.”

Yennefer drove them to the flat that she shared with Triss and, walking inside, Jaskier wasn’t entirely surprised by the sleek modernity of the place nor the fact that it was the penthouse. He trailed after her, staring in amazement at the floor to ceiling windows that gave incredible views over the city.

“Drink?”

Jaskier turned to see Yennefer standing by a well-stocked drinks cabinet. “What’s going to get my drunkest quicker and make this whole thing - whatever it is - endurable?”

“Vodka it is.” Yennefer filled a tumbler with vodka and handed it over, pouring her own drink before sitting down. “Now, when are you going to get your act together and do something about your lust for Geralt?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh please. Whenever you see him, you’re like a child stood outside a toy shop at Christmas.”

Jaskier sniffed, “yes, well. I’m very happy with Eskel, thank you very much. And besides, there’s no harm in looking.”

“Of course not. Definitely not if he’s looking back…”

“Looking back?” Jaskier was concerned until realisation dawned. “Wait … are you trying to say that you think Geralt is bisexual? But he’s never given any indication.”

"Puppy, Geralt can barely verbalise his coffee order ... what makes you think he can talk about his sexuality? How many sentences have you heard him say?"

Jaskier snorted his wine and then promptly choked on it at Yennefer’s comment. “Yen!”

“What? The man certainly knows how to please in bed, but he’s never going to be a conversationalist. That’s why you have Eskel.”

“What are you trying to say, Yennefer.”

“I’m trying to say that you should stop pining and bed the both of them; Geralt and Eskel.”

Jaskier was convinced that he was doing a very good impersonation of a guppy fish. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“That you should embark upon a polyamorous relationship with two thirds of the wolves of Kaer Morhen? Yes, yes I am. Keep up, puppy, I know you’re not that stupid.”

“Thank you, I think. But … I mean. I wouldn’t even know where to start. I mean, I’ve had threesomes before…”

“You’re going up in my estimations.”

Jaskier glared, “I’ve had threesomes before but that’s a bit different to a relationship. And it was hard enough to get Eskel to realise that I was flirting and wanted to be with him. Geralt is like a blank wall.”

“Oh please, like that would stop you. You can talk enough for three people and Eskel is no slouch. He’s certainly much more verbose than Geralt.”

“But… really? You’re sure about this? I mean, Geralt dated _you_ and well,” Jaskier flapped his hand at Yennefer, “just look at you.”

“Well, there’s no accounting for changes in taste. Look, I have no evidence but my own observations but there has always been something between Geralt and Eskel that I couldn’t put my finger on. Something that wasn’t there between the two of them and Lambert. I think that convincing the two of them will be easier than you think.”

“What are you trying to say, Yennefer? Stop playing around the subject.”

“That Geralt and Eskel are unusually close to each other, even for two men that were brought up in the same household. When I was seeing Geralt, he would drop everything if Eskel needed anything. Even the smallest thing. He walked away from my bed, missed dinners, nights at the theatre and we even missed reservations at The Ivy. I could understand it where Ciri was concerned but Eskel? A grown man in the Marines? No. A woman with a lesser sense of self-worth than me could get quite insecure. I mean, I’ve seen newlyweds with less chemistry than the two of them.”

“So, you’re saying that Geralt and Eskel have…”

“Fucked at some point? Without doubt.

“I remember one time – it stuck in my mind because it has never happened before or since – that I was riding Geralt and he actually stopped mid-thrust to respond to a text from Eskel. A text!”

“He’s braver than I thought. But none of that is categorical proof of Geralt being something other than straight.”

“Fair. I’ll counter with one last question. Have you seen Geralt’s arse? Letting that man top all the time would, quite frankly, be doing it a disservice. The man takes cock like a dream. That, I can attest to.”

Jaskier leaned forward and drained his glass before refilling it to the brim. “I may regret this but … Yennefer? Tell me everything.”

~*~

Jaskier hummed happily as he pulled the last of the cakes for the following morning out of the oven. Geralt had arrived at Wanderlust just as they were closing to take Ciri out for some father-daughter time somewhere that wasn’t Kaer Morhen and to have dinner at The Skellige. To Jaskier’s complete lack of surprise, approximately ten minutes after Geralt and Ciri had left, Eskel had arrived. He had greeted Jaskier with a kiss before settling down to play the piano while Jaskier got on with the prep.

Just as the tins hit the counter, Eskel appeared in the kitchen in a rather sudden manner, almost as though he had been pushed, Lil’ Bleater making a plaintive noise beside him. As Jaskier looked rather bemused, the door swung shut behind them and they heard the distinct sound of the kitchen door being locked and saw Lambert’s tell-tale red curls through the small window.

“What the fuck?! Have you just locked me in my own kitchen, Lambert?”

“I didn’t just lock you in, I locked Eskel in there with you. I’m not letting you out until Eskel finally talks to you.”

“Talks to me about what?”

“He knows exactly what he needs to talk about.” Lambert’s tone was almost ominous, “pretty sure you know what as well.

Given the mulish expression on Eskel’s face and the way that his arms were crossed across his chest, Jaskier wasn’t entirely sure of the success of Lambert’s method. If anything, it looked like Eskel was prepared to wait out a long siege.

“For fuck’s sake, Eskel, I can’t hear you talking.”

“Fuck OFF, Lambchop.”

“Don’t call me Lambchop, goat dad. And I’ll fuck off when you start sodding talking. You’ve been avoiding this for far too long. If you don’t tell Buttercup what’s going on, I’m going to tell him. Find your balls, brother.”

Feeling sorry for Eskel, who was clearly becoming more stressed with every passing second, Jaskier spoke up. “You don’t have to tell me anything, dear heart. Not if you’re not ready.”

“Don’t be so bloody nice to him, Buttercup. He does have to tell you because I’m getting sick of him pining and you looking like someone smashed your pretty string thingy.”

“My pretty string thingy is called a lute, Lambert.”

“That’s what I said.”

"Geralt and I have been having sex since we were teenagers," Eskel blurted out. It seemed as though the irrelevant discourse between Lambert and Jaskier had loosened Eskel’s tongue and removed at least some of his nerves.

Jaskier blinked. “I’m sorry. I’m not entirely sure that I heard you correctly.”

"Geralt and I have been having sex since we were teenagers."

Nope. Jaskier had heard Eskel correctly. "Oh." It seemed that Yennefer might have been right after all. Not that he was ever going to tell her that.

“And on that note,” the lock clicked open, “I’m going to leave you to it.”

Neither Eskel nor Jaskier noticed Lambert’s words, or him leaving and locking up Wanderlust for them as he did so.

"That isn't exactly the response I was expecting, Jas. More running out of the door screaming. Maybe threatening to call the police. Saying I'm going straight to hell. That kind of thing."

"The best spaces are in the lowest circle..."

"Songbird..."

"Sorry. Is it weird if I say that I'm kind of not surprised? I mean, this isn’t exactly what I had envisaged. I almost thought that Geralt was homophobic with the way you only turned up when he wasn’t around.” Jaskier paused, debating whether to admit to the next bit, in for a penny in for a pound and all that. “Also, is it really fucked up that I've already pictured that?"

"What?" Eskel looked as though he was going to have a coronary.

"I mean, I can run out the door screaming if you want, but I don't see the point. I've imagined it. You and Geralt. Fucking. I genuinely think it was one of the hottest things I’ve ever imagined. And that was just in my head. You’re actually telling me that it’s happened. You and Geralt?"

“First kiss. First blow job. First penetrative sex. All of the firsts. And frequently since then.”

Jaskier sighed, “and isn’t that a lovely mental picture.”

“You’re actually serious about this.”

“When have I ever joked about sex, dear heart?”

“Most people would be running in the opposite direction.”

“I’m offended that you think I’m most people.”

“Seriously, you’re okay with this?”

Jaskier crowded into Eskel’s personal space, nuzzling up against his cheek. “Never been more okay.”

“Then phone Istredd or Sabrina, because there is no way that you’re going to be opening tomorrow.”

Jaskier pulled his phone out of his pocket and started dialling a number, “you’re okay with this?”

“I’m probably going to need you to remind a time or three but, _fuck,_ songbird. How are you so fucking perfect?”

The phone call connected just as Jaskier was about to respond. “Istredd, it’s Jaskier.” He barely managed to hold back a moan as Eskel latched onto the sensitive skin at the juncture of his neck and jaw, “I’ll pay you double if you can come in and open Wanderlust for me in the morning. It’s a – fuck! It’s an emergency. Hmm. Yes, of course I’ll bake that for you. Thanks, Istredd. Shit! Do that again. No, sorry, not you. You’re my second favourite employee. Thanks! Bye!”

Jaskier had barely had time to end the call before Eskel was on him, lips pressing against his, tongue lapping at the seam of Jaskier’s lips. His phone was discarded on the counter as Jaskier’s shirt became an early victim, buttons going flying as Eskel gave up on trying to unbutton them and settled for simply ripping it off Jaskier’s body. Eskel’s shirt and boxers received similar treatment, Eskel simply kicking them off and not caring where they landed once Jaskier had shoved them down his thighs.

Jaskier helped Eskel fumble at the belt and buttons of his trousers, before moaning as Eskel dropped to his knees and engulfed Jaskier’s cock in his mouth without preamble. Jaskier couldn’t help but buck his hips, feeling the tip of his cock hit the back of Eskel’s throat and moaning loudly at the sensation, one hand anchoring itself in Eskel’s hair whilst the other clung to the edge of the work surface. He tried to restrain himself but Eskel didn’t allow it, wrapping broad hands around Jaskier’s hips, his fingertips digging into the flesh of Jaskier’s arse and encouraging him to fuck Eskel’s face. Jaskier did precisely that, hips keeping a steady pace as little huffs and grunts escaped his lips until one of Eskel’s hands moved, stroking over Jaskier’s perineum and stimulating his prostate from the outside. Then, Jaskier’s hips stuttered and he spilled himself down Eskel’s throat with a protracted moan.

“Shit! I need to start keeping lube and condoms down here.” Jaskier used his grip on Eskel’s hair to pull him up from his knees before he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Eskel’s lips, even as he wrapped a hand around his cock and stroked firmly, adding a slight twist that had Eskel’s knees buckling. “Take me to bed, Eskel. I want this in me.”

(~*~)

This was what had been missing, Jaskier thought, as Eskel slumped boneless across his chest. He had thought the sex was some of the best that he had ever experienced before, but this had been truly exceptional. One that was most definitely deserving of being immortalised in song. It was as though, having finally told Jaskier the truth, a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was this lightness that gave Jaskier the courage to press further. Carding his fingers through Eskel’s hair rhythmically, he posed his question.

“Will you tell me? About you and Geralt?”

Eskel tilted his head, craning his neck to look at Jaskier’s face, confusion written all over his face.

“You actually want to know?”

“Dear heart, considering how long he has been part of your life, of course I do.”

“What do you want to know, Songbird?”

“Tell me everything.”

“Vesemir took Geralt in first. I won’t give you all the details because they aren’t mine to tell, but he hadn’t had a good life. Care, multiple foster homes, the works. Vesemir was the last resort and it worked. Vesemir took me in a year after Geralt when my mum couldn’t take care of me anymore. There’s only a year between us in age. Lambert came along a couple of years later and he’s four years younger than me. We’d settled down a little bit by then, but we didn’t really trust anyone other than each other and Vesemir and he had fought hard for that trust.

Our teenage years and discovering our sexuality was a fucking minefield. Melitele only knows how Vesemir got through those with his liver intact and he still had Lambert to deal with. We still didn’t really trust anyone other than each other so, to us, it was logical. We experimented with each other. Geralt was my first kiss, just as he was mine. It spiralled from there. First kiss, first handjob, first blowjob, first fuck. Trust was the most important thing and we trusted each other enough to be vulnerable. Thing was, we never stopped. School, basic, the army, marines. Only we never actually talked about what it was between us and somewhere along the way I fell in love with him.”

“Have you never considered talking to Geralt? Never tried to define things between you?” Jaskier had listened to everything that Eskel had to tell me and this question was one that had played on his mind.

Eskel sighed so heavily that it stirred Jaskier’s chest hair. “Many times. But you’ve seen that us men of Kaer Morhen aren’t good at talking and besides, I was too much of a coward. I was too afraid of what I might hear.”

“What could you have heard that was so terrifying?”

“That I was nothing more than a convenience? Merely a warm body at the right time. A tool for exploration. I’ve only ever looked at two people with interest and slept with the same two people. Geralt had Yennefer and a few more, I’m convinced of it. Until Lambert sent us that video of you singing during the first open mic night, there had never been anyone for me but Geralt.”

“Lambert sent you a video of me? Playing or singing?”

“Really, Jas? That’s what you take from this?”

“Sorry. You were saying.”

“Lambert sent us a video of you. You were singing one of your compositions and playing a sodding lute of all things. It was like a punch to the gut. And then I saw you in Wanderlust and just … Fuck, Jaskier, you were – _are_ – everything I ever wanted in a relationship. You were interested in me, fucked up with scars and a passive-aggressive, attention hungry therapy goat and all. You’re gorgeous and talented and fearless and I felt sick to my stomach and guilty as hell that I can’t turn off twenty years of feelings and confusion for Geralt.”

“Well, of course you can’t. Would you not consider having the conversation with Geralt now?”

The way that Eskel cocked his head in confusion was remarkably similar to the way Lil’ Bleater did. Apparently like owner like goat. “Why would I do that? I have you. I’m happy with you. I … love you.”

Jaskier pulled Eskel into a searing kiss. “I love you too, darling man. It is precisely because I love you, that I am suggesting you speak to Geralt.”

“I … don’t understand.”

Jaskier took a deep breath. He really fucking hoped Yennefer and Triss hadn’t been wrong about this. “What if you didn’t have to choose between Geralt and myself?”

“Jaskier?”

“You have something with Geralt. A currently undefined something but something, nonetheless. I love you. I can say that without a shadow of a doubt. However, I would be lying if I said that I didn’t feel anything for Geralt.”

“What are you saying, Jas?”

“I’m attracted to Geralt. A lot. Just as I was to you when you first walked into Wanderlust. I’m suggesting that, dependant upon your conversation with Geralt, you could have both of us. I’m not guaranteeing it’s going to work. It could be a fucking disaster. I mean, Geralt doesn’t seem to like me all that much and there are going to be people who think the relationship between you and Geralt is wrong.”

“Geralt doesn’t dislike you.”

“Eskel, darling Eskel, you don’t have to lie to me. If Geralt’s behaviour towards me is how he is when he doesn’t dislike someone, I’d hate to see what it’s like when he hates someone. You know him better than I do though, so I’ll trust your judgement.”

“You know, Lambert suggested the same thing. That I might not have to choose between the two of you.”

“He did?”

“He took me to a dive bar called Nilfgaard and made me sink enough alcohol to talk about all of this. He’s known all about Geralt and I for years; apparently, he caught us fucking years ago and just never said anything. That was why he sent the video. He knew that both Geralt and I would find you attractive. That we would both want you. I thought he was absolutely crazy. That there was no possible way.”

“Will miracles never cease, Lambert giving sensible advice. Like I said, it could be a complete fucking disaster, but we won’t know unless we try. I’ve had threesomes before but never a poly relationship.” Jaskier wrapped his arms around Eskel and took the opportunity to roll them so that he was sitting astride Eskel’s hips. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m still not convinced what you’re saying about Geralt actually liking me, but the first thing you’re going to do is talk to him about what it is between the two of you. The two of you need to sit down and have a conversation with words. Preferably of more than one syllable. Once you’ve done that and, depending on what Geralt says, we will make a plan from there.”

Eskel sat up in a serious display of ab control as he kept Jaskier balanced on his hips, pressing butterfly kisses all over Jaskier’s face. “Seriously? How are you so fucking perfect?”

“It’s a talent. But I’m willing to let you show me your appreciation…”

“As you wish, Songbird.”

(~*~)

Just as it had been the morning after they had first slept together, it wasn't exactly the wake-up call they had wanted. When the banging on the door started, if felt as though they had barely been asleep for a couple of hours and a glance at the clock told them that was precisely the case. Jaskier moaned dramatically, burying himself under the duvet in an attempt to drown out the noise.

"Ignore it."

Eskel’s suggestion was remarkably easy to do considering how he pulled Jaskier back even further into the warmth of his body as he spoke. Unfortunately for them, the person on the other side of the door was persistent and didn't let up, the hammering becoming even louder if that was possible. Jaskier craned his neck, trying to look at Eskel.

"What if it's an emergency?"

Eskel's growl told Jaskier exactly what he thought of an emergency. The problem was, Jaskier wasn't able to enjoy the feeling of Eskel pressed against his entire body while it sounded like someone was trying to break down his front door so he threw back the duvet and reluctantly pulled himself from Eskel’s embrace, despite his best efforts to prevent him. He didn't bother to get dressed though. Whoever was at the door could just get an eyeful and deal with it. What Jaskier wasn't expecting when he opened the door was to see an irate Cahir holding what looked like Jaskier’s shirt and Eskel's boxers with a disdainful grip. Lil’ Bleater trotted into the flat, aiming for Eskel like a homing missile if the muffled curse was anything to go by.

“Cahir, how delightful to see you this early in the morning.”

“I found a goat in my kitchen. And these,” Cahir threw the clothes at Jaskier. “Have you defiled my kitchen?"

“Cahir, it’s four am.”

“It’s actually 3.56; I'm early as always. You didn't answer my question. Have you defiled my kitchen?” Before Jaskier could answer, Cahir spoke again. "Are you naked?"

“Yes, I am naked because it's 4am and I was in bed with my lover. In answer to your question, I think you’ll find that it’s my kitchen, Cahir. And yes, yes we did defile it. Just a little.”

Cahir puffed up and started to rant about health and safety, how he was supposed to get started on the mornings baking when he didn’t know which surfaces Jaskier and Eskel had sullied with their bare skin. It was all incredibly tedious and yes, things that Jaskier should probably be concerned about but not at 4am in the morning.

“Cahir, piss off.” Eskel’s voice rumbled in Jaskier’s ear, deeper and roughened with sleep, as he plastered himself against Jaskier’s back and banded an arm tightly around Jaskier’s waist. “We didn’t really care about health and safety at the time and we don’t really care about it now. You can rant and rave all you want but it’s 4am and we’re going back to bed.”

Cahir’s sputters could still be heard through the wood as Eskel swung the door shut in his face and crowded Jaskier back up against it, nipping at his jaw. “I’m curious, does what I did last night count as defiling?”

“That thing you did about two am this morning with your tongue and fingers? That was definitely defiling,” Jaskier rolled his hips into Eskel’s, moaning as their swelling cocks brushed against each other. “The stuff in the kitchen? I’m not convinced. That’s why I said just a little bit; I think you might have to try harder.”

“Challenge accepted, Songbird. Bleater, get out of the bedroom. You’re too young to see this.”


	10. When You Came In, The Air Went Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn a little more about Lambert and he loses patience with Aiden.

Lambert had never thought he would be lucky enough to meet that person; ‘the one’. That mythical creature that people dreamed of. He was fairly sure that his brothers felt the same but, then again, he was pretty sure that was because most of society would baulk at the fact that Geralt and Eskel were in a relationship or fucking at the very least. Knowing the two of them as he did, he doubted that they had actually managed to show the emotional literacy or the social skills to discuss that. Eskel was capable of it, but he would have inevitably deferred to Geralt as he often did. The irony that Lambert was the most emotionally literate of all of them when it came to romantic relationships hadn’t escaped him and was an endless source of equal parts amusement and despair. That didn’t mean his love life was anything but a minefield though.

No, they all considered themselves lucky that Vesemir had found them and that they had found Ciri. Family – the wolf pack as Vesemir referred to them – was enough for them.

But then, Café Wanderlust had opened and Ciri had found Jaskier and Lambert had started to wonder if maybe the wolves of Kaer Morhen had been too hasty at writing off their chance at finding the fabled ‘one’.

Lambert had known, the moment that he had seen him, that Jaskier was perfect for his brothers. He was gorgeous, talented and fearless. Jaskier wasn’t put off by Eskel’s scars or verbalise _anything._ He took Lambert’s brothers at face value and accepted them – loved them – for who they were. At least, that was the case with Eskel. At least, Lambert was assuming that given that he had hadn’t actually seen Eskel since he had locked them in the kitchen of Wanderlust together. That implied that, as Lambert had suspected, Jaskier had absolutely no problem with what Geralt and Eskel were to each other. He was positive that, as soon as both Eskel and Jaskier talked to Geralt, he would be capitulating within the hour. How could he resist? Even if Geralt did resist, it wouldn’t be long. Lambert knew his brother. Knew them both. They had been Jaskier’s as soon as they had seen that first video of him singing in Wanderlust.

Eskel and Geralt had found their ‘one’ in a baking musician, Lambert had found his in a fucking professor of all things.

One look at Aiden and he had been babbling like an idiot, hearts eyes as big as his face. Stupid Aiden with his broad shoulders clad in a tight Henley, thick thighs that Lambert wanted to climb and a beard that Lambert wanted to feel against his skin. Aiden who, with one shake of his hand, had reduced Lambert to a babbling wreck that tripped over mid-air.

Still, despite Aiden’s apparent interest, Lambert remained leery. There had to be something wrong with Aiden. Why the hell would he be interested in Lambert otherwise? Especially when you considered the clusterfucks that were his previous relationships. Lambert may have mocked Eskel for his inability to define things with Geralt, but he was well aware that there was a considerable amount of the pot calling the kettle black. He only had two past relationships that were particularly noteworthy and neither for good reasons. Not that Aiden knew that but to Lambert, it merely muddied the waters and brought back memories he’d rather forget.

~*~

Berengar had been Lambert’s first foray into relationships. It had been so promising at the beginning before it had descended into what Lambert could now acknowledge was a shitshow.

Lambert had been about seventeen when he met Berengar.

Geralt and Eskel had not long left Kaer Morhen and only the fact that Vesemir insisted on all of them having A-levels under their belt had prevented Lambert from joining them. Instead, him joining the army became inevitable rather than immediate. The problem was, with them away, they had taken with them the only people that Lambert spent time with willingly. He didn’t like anybody that he was at school with and he was pretty sure that the feeling was mutual. Instead, he focused everything he could on his schoolwork (which he hated), working out at Kaer Morhen (which he loved) and waiting for when he could speak to Eskel and Geralt (which he simultaneously loved and loathed).

It had been at Kaer Morhen that he had met Berengar.

Berengar was slightly older than Lambert and had aspirations to join the police force. They had started working out together and, initially, everyone had approved of the fact that Lambert wasn’t by himself all of the time. Berengar was good-looking and charming and he had rather swept Lambert off his feet.

The problem was, Lambert didn’t realise just how swept off his feet and all-encompassing things with Berengar had become until it was almost too late. Berengar had ensured that he was isolating Lambert from his family by monopolising all of Lambert’s time when he wasn’t in school or the couple of nights that he went to Kaer Morhen. He took Lambert out for dates to the cinema, bowling, out for dinner and even snuck him into Cintra for dancing more than once. Berengar made comments about Lambert’s behaviour, about the way he dressed, what he ate. He convinced Lambert not to answer phone calls or respond to messages from Eskel and Geralt when they were together because it was rude, and all his attention should be on his date.

That had been the last straw and the thing that made Lambert’s brothers act. They had phoned Vesemir and he had stepped in. Berengar had been banned from Kaer Morhen, a restraining order put in place banning him from coming anywhere near Lambert and he wasn’t going to be joining the police any time soon.

In the months – years - after he had finished with Berengar, Lambert had been reeling and it had taken him a long time before he could even think about dating again. When he did, it was with people from his school. Vesemir had watched him like a hawk and, even though they were away, Geralt and Eskel had hovered like proverbial mother hens requiring that he check in with them after every single date. Lambert had teasingly called them mama wolves more than once and, though he occasionally chafed at their overprotectiveness, he had appreciated it nonetheless. Even if it was fucking awkward when he missed a check-in the night he lost his virginity and they had woken up Vesemir to go look for him.

Keira was an entirely different kettle of fish to Berengar.

They had met in a club when Lambert was home on leave. Keira was vivacious and outgoing and had known exactly what she wanted, which – at the time - was Lambert. It had been good at first, at least while Lambert was in the country. Keira knew her own mind and wasn’t afraid to speak it which Lambert enjoyed. After Berengar, it was a much more equal partnership and Lambert enjoyed that. Plus, the sex was fantastic. Jaskier had once asked how Lambert knew Polish and, what he did know, was thanks to Keira. Not much of it was any use in polite society or outside the bedroom.

The only downside that Lambert could see was that Keira liked her luxuries. She liked designer clothes and accessories, regular appointments at Aretuza, quality champagne and expensive meals out. Those things weren’t easily provided on a squaddie’s salary, but Lambert and his brothers were eyeing up doing the extra training to transfer to the Marines and that would bring more money with it. Lambert found himself making plans for the two of them, even if he didn’t share them with anyone. Found himself considering proposing, thinking about if they would have children, what the future could hold.

Lambert had been dating Keira for the best part of two years when it all came crashing down around his ears.

He had come home unexpectedly on leave; Ciri had recently lost her grandparents and been placed into Geralt’s care. General Vizimir had given the three of them leave to help Ciri settle in to Kaer Morhen. Lambert and Eskel hadn’t been given as long as Geralt but they had taken advantage of what they had been given before they had to return to duty. It had been a whirlwind of decorating and trying to get used to being caretakers for a grieving pre-teen girl.

With Ciri having cried herself to sleep one night, Lambert had decided to surprise Keira. Only he had ended up being the one surprised when, on the way there, he had happened to look through the window of a restaurant and seen her sat at an intimate table for two with an older gentleman. He supposed it could be her father and it wasn’t as though he had told her he was coming. So, he had decided to wait and taken a seat on a nearby bench.

As they left, it had become very apparent that the man wasn’t Keira’s father. Lambert knew those boots she was wearing – had heard her refer to them as her ‘fuck me’ boots more than once, had actually fucked her in them – and that was definitely not how you kissed your father. The ensuing confrontation had not gone well. While Lambert had been envisioning their future, imagining the possibility of them having children, Keira had been cheating on him left, right and centre. She didn’t want to be an army wife – even if Lambert was successful with his move to the Marines – didn’t want to be tied down to a single person. Keira wanted to be free to sleep with whoever could keep her in a life that she wanted to become accustomed to and as far as she was concerned that wasn’t Lambert.

He had gone home with a diversion past the off-licence and squished himself on the sofa in between Geralt and Eskel where he had relayed the evenings events between slugs of vodka. His brothers had been suitably outraged on his behalf and had slung their arms around him, reassuring him that there was nothing wrong with him and that he had simply had bad luck when it came to relationships. In the early hours of the morning, Ciri had joined them after yet another nightmare and they had ended up making a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor of the living room. Curling around Ciri, who was glued to Geralt’s chest like a limpet, and feeling Eskel at his own back, Lambert told himself that this – family - was enough for him.

Ever since that night, Lambert hadn’t embarked upon another relationship, slaking his lust with hook-ups in bars and one-night stands. What was the point in taking the risk, in letting himself be vulnerable, if it was just going to end in disaster? If he was just going to end up getting hurt? He clearly didn’t have any concept of good judgement when it came to relationships.

Love was overrated.

He didn’t need it.

~*~

And then he had met Aiden.

The man Lambert had met just when he had decided to abandon love and devote himself to Kaer Morhen.

Stupid, perfect, gorgeous Aiden who was fit and intelligent and a bloody modern-day Indiana Jones. He was even a TV presenter for fuck’s sake. In addition to the television contract, he had had several books published, led digs all over the world, held a top position at the university and guest-lectured at countless others. He was so fucking out of Lambert’s league, it was untrue. Only, completely against the odds, Aiden had appeared as though he was interested in Lambert. There had been lingering looks, flirty comments and that dance at Cintra.

Lambert had been enjoying it. Had been revelling in the feeling of being attractive to someone, of being wanted. Certainly, at the beginning, Lambert hadn’t been sure that he wanted anything more than a flirtation, that he wasn’t ready for anything more. He’d been burned too many times. But as time went on, he started to wonder if maybe he did want more. Maybe he was ready for more. However, the longer that things went on, the more frustrated Lambert got with the whole Aiden situation. Because Aiden never made a move. He didn’t seem to be interested in making this anything more than a flirtation.

It wasn’t as though Lambert had been encouraging. He had been the complete opposite of suave and sophisticated. Hadn’t exactly made a good case for being a put-together human being that someone would want to date. Instead, he’d just made an arse of himself. Multiple times. Tripping over mid-air. Dropping weights on his feet. Making absurd noises and falling over in yoga class. Lambert was actually struggling to think further ways that he could embarrass himself.

Maybe that was it. Maybe Aiden had realised the truth. That Lambert was too screwed up to waste his time on; damaged goods and all that. Lambert didn’t disagree with that. Acknowledged it, in fact. Still, it annoyed Lambert. Festered within him. If Aiden didn’t want anything from Lambert other than flirtation, then that was fine – it really wasn’t – but Lambert deserved to know. So, he decided upon a course of action. Turning on his most charming smile, he managed to wangle Aiden’s office hours and the location of said office from the middle-aged receptionist.

It had taken him ages to psych himself up. He had cancelled his clients for the day or palmed them off on Geralt and Eskel, the latter of whom had given him a knowing glance and planted himself on the university campus. A few people had greeted him, people who came to Kaer Morhen for classes and a few others who had suggested that he create some sort of deal offering discount to the university students. He had promised them that he would think about it, done a couple of deep breathing exercises and, checking his watch, headed for Aiden’s office where he had slammed the door open and walked in without thinking about it.

“Are you ever actually going to ask me out? Or are you just a complete and utter wanker who delights in seeing me making a twat of myself whenever I see you?”

Lambert froze at the end of his rant when he realised that Aiden wasn’t alone in his office as Lambert had been led to believe. Instead, there was a student sat wide-eyed, not quite sure what she had just witnessed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you had a student. I’ll just go.”

Lambert turned, cheeks flushing with mortification, in the hopes of making a reasonably dignified exit. What he wasn’t expecting was for Aiden’s hand to shoot out and clamp onto his wrist like a vice, preventing Lambert from going anywhere.

“No, don’t go.”

(~*~)

Of course it would be this particular student that would be in his office when Lambert burst in. She was one of a handful who had taken Aiden’s course not because she was interested in archaeology, but because she was interested in him. They had seen him on TV and rather fancied the idea of a slightly illicit student-professor relationship with someone who was making a name of himself. She and her fellow cronies sat in the front row and wore low-cut shirts and short skirts or skin-tight jeans and batted their eyelashes at him, not listening to a word he said which then meant that they had an excuse to turn up at his office. Aiden supposed that he should be grateful Lambert had waited until his office hours rather than bursting into the middle of a seminar or a lecture.

“I’m sorry, Philippa. Can we continue another time?” Aiden tightened his grasp around Lambert’s wrist when he tugged tentatively, trying to escape.

“Sure thing, Professor.” 

As Philippa left, Aiden could see the gleam in her eye at the knowledge that she had new gossip about him. He was willing to bet that this would be round campus in approximately five minutes. Still, it might help dissuade her and some of the others if they knew that he was unavailable. Then again, it might only encourage them. Aiden was not unaware of the appreciative looks that followed Lambert at Kaer Morhen from the university students that attended the new classes. Many of them may have started visiting for Geralt’s yoga class but that didn’t mean they were completely insensible to the appeal of Eskel and Lambert. He had no doubt that the possibility of Lambert and Aiden together was going to fuel more than a few student fantasies.

The instant that the door swung shut behind her, Aiden was tugging Lambert towards him as he took a perch on his desk.

“Well that was quite the entrance.”

“Fuck off Indiana Jones, how was I supposed to know you had someone in here?”

“Perhaps because the door was closed? Common courtesy means people usually knock before they enter a locked room.”

Lambert snarled, “then if you’ll let go of my wrist, I’ll remove myself from your presence.”

“ _Lambert._ I’m sorry. You couldn’t be further from the truth, Kitten. Oh, I can be a wanker from time to time, but I promise I’m not stringing you along. Yes, I have always intended to ask you out.”

“Then why…”

“Have I not done so before now? Because I’m happy to play the long game. You weren’t ready for the possibility. I just waited until you were.”

“But, but …” Lambert looked completely and utterly poleaxed by Aiden’s words.

“Let me take you out for dinner tonight.”

Lambert could feel his cheeks pink up. And cursed mentally. “Okay. Where shall I meet you?”

“None of that. It’ll be a surprise. I’m a gentleman; I’ll pick you up at 7pm, Kitten.”

~*~

“Fuck, fuck, fucking cock.” Why the fuck had Lambert agreed to this. “Nope, no, definitely not. Hell no.” He supposed turning up in Kaer Morhen branded sweatpants and a hoody would be frowned upon. Not that he knew where Aiden was taking him. Knowing his luck, it would be somewhere like sodding Kaedwen. It hadn’t been too long since he had laughed at Eskel for being in this very same situation and it would serve him right.

“Well, this sounds disturbingly familiar.”

“Fuck off, goat dad.”

Lambert deliberately ignored Eskel and kept his focus on his wardrobe. Not that it was helping him figure out what to wear for the evening. Why couldn’t Aiden have told him where they were going? How was Lambert supposed to choose something to wear from his meagre wardrobe when he didn’t know where they were going?

“So, I take it you found your balls and finally asked Aiden out.”

Lambert mumbled something without actually acknowledging that Aiden had done the asking before he gave up on his wardrobe. “How the fuck do I decide what to wear when I don’t know where we’re going?”

“Luckily for you, Jas talked to Aiden and found out where he’s taking you.”

Lambert gestured impatiently. “And?”

“Well, I’m not going to tell you that. I’ll ruin Aiden’s surprise. However, I can tell you what to wear.” Eskel walked over to Lambert and hip-checked him out of the way, pulling out several items of clothing. “Put those on and run a brush through that mop you call hair. Coën sent you some beard oil as well. Get a move on.”

Lambert had just finished getting ready when there was the low rumble of a powerful motorbike outside. He received his leather jacket to the face from Eskel and was all but shoved through the front door, “have fun, little wolf.”

(~*~)

The journey on the back of Aiden’s bike, pressed up against Aiden’s perfect arse and back, arms wrapped around his waist was torturous. Thankfully, the place that Aiden had selected wasn’t Kaedwen. It was a place that Lambert had never heard of; a gastropub in the middle of nowhere called Redania. It was similar to The Skellige but had the advantage of being far enough away from anyone that they would know.

It had been a long time since Lambert had been on a date and he’d had several minor panics that afternoon that he had already set a precedent for making a tit of himself in front of Aiden but he was relieved to find that wasn’t the case. If anything, it was the easiest date that he had ever been on. He just hoped it wasn’t the last with Aiden. The man was happy to talk about his work and his travels, the trip that he had just come back from, but he was equally keen to hear about Lambert and his plans for Kaer Morhen. They spent time discussing Jaskier and Café Wanderlust as well as Ciri. They spent so long talking that they were still there when the bell rang for last orders.

The return trip back towards Kaer Morhen and home was just as torturous as the outward journey. Perhaps even more so. Because now Lambert knew that Aiden was his one. That he was pretty damn perfect and, somehow, still interested in Lambert. Not quite wanting the evening to end, Lambert got off the bike and removed his helmet.

“Can I convince you into doing this again? Tomorrow, perhaps?”

“You’re keen.” Lambert hesitated, “It’s not that I don’t want to. I’m just not good at relationships.”

“You’re not good at relationships or you’ve never had a partner treat you how you deserve to be treated?”

Not for the first time that day, Aiden left Lambert speechless.

“That’s what I thought. I want to be in a relationship with you, Lambert. I want you to have the relationship that you deserve. Treat you as you deserve to be treated. Will you let me?”

Lambert blinked. “I can try?”

“That’s all I ask.” Aiden wrapped his hands around Lambert’s hips and backed him up into the bike. “Can I kiss you?”

“You’re really asking me that question? You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do. That’s part of this, Kitten. I’m not going to make you do anything that you don’t want to do. So, yes, I’m going to ask if I can kiss you. And I need you to answer with words.”

Lambert rolled his eyes, “yes, you can kiss me.”

What he wasn’t expecting was for Aiden to slide a hand into Lambert’s curls, tugging slightly and making him moan. Only then did he lean in and press his lips to Lambert’s. It was gentle and chaste and fucking perfect and nowhere near enough. When Aiden pulled back, Lambert chased after his lips, eyes still closed and huffing in annoyance when Aiden merely laughed.

“I’m more than happy to kiss you again, Kitten, I just wasn’t sure how you feel about an audience.”

“Huh?”

Aiden pointed upwards to the windows and, turning around, Lambert saw his entire family watching like the nosy, overprotective bastards they were with Ciri clearly bouncing giddily. He had no doubt that, if he were to look over at Wanderlust, he would see Buttercup peering through the window. Lambert wound his arms around Aiden’s neck and pulled him close.

“Absolutely fine. Get on with it, Professor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a small section where it is referred to Lambert having been in a relationship where the other party had control issues and isolated him from his family but it doesn't go further than that.


	11. If I'm Good Will You Come Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are revelations, flirtations and - finally - conversations.

If Jaskier had thought that flirting with Eskel was hard then flirting with Geralt was almost completely impossible. Any attempt to flirt with him or even compliment him just rolled off him like water off a ducks back. Logically, the man had to have some intelligence – more than some given that he had been a ranking officer in the Marines – but Jaskier was honestly starting to have his doubts. He couldn’t help but wonder how long Geralt and Yennefer had dated because she didn’t seem like the kind to put up with stupidity for very long, if at all. Melitele knew, it was a good job that the man was good-looking.

_***FLASHBACK***_

Jaskier had made the decision to still attend Geralt’s yoga classes. Even if it wasn’t a glorious sight, it was good for him to get at least some exercise. He may be jumping the gun but, if he and Eskel ended up convincing Geralt, a bit of extra flexibility wouldn’t hope. He wasn’t alone in visiting the classes. Triss and Yennefer were still attending as were many of the yummy mummies. Both Ciri and Lambert had taken to complaining about them when they came into Wanderlust. Then again, Lambert only seemed to have two topics of conversation these days: Aiden and Kaer Morhen. Jaskier wasn’t convinced that he was becoming any better at yoga, but the view was always worth it. Especially given that Geralt seemed to have a never-ending supply of identical blue and grey tank tops. All of which showed off his impressive biceps to perfection.

“Your neck is like a sexy goose? Really, Songbird?”

Jaskier spun around from where he was doing his prep. “Fuck! You heard about that?”

“Geralt was talking about it after class.” Eskel pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s lips, his own twitching in amusement. “You really said that to him?”

“What I actually said was ‘you have the most incredible neck, it’s like a sexy goose’ in response to a particular pose. I panicked. I was trying to flirt but I get in front of him and it’s like I forget how to use words. I mean, I’m not usually like this. I’m suave, sophisticated. You know that. It’s just that Geralt’s like a brick wall; you can’t work anything out from his facial expressions.”

“I don’t know if I would describe you as suave or sophisticated.”

“Hey! That’s unfair! There were definitely elements of my seduction of you that can be categorised as such.”

“Okay, maybe the singing was suave. Almost definitely suave.” Eskel capitulated, “okay, yes. The singing was good. Great. So was the cake. Maybe do that? Bake a cake. Do another open mic night and sing to him.”

“Cake baking. Singing. I’m a modern-day renaissance man. I can do that.”

“You can definitely do that.” Eskel wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist, “do you need that bowl of icing or can it be considered surplus?”

“That depends on what you’re willing to do with it…”

“Anything you wish, Songbird. I’m at your command.”

“Then it’s surplus.”

_***END FLASHBACK***_

Eskel, on the other hand, was having considerably more success.

Now that they had talked and understood each other better, Jaskier had started going to watch Eskel’s boxing classes again. He wasn’t the only one observing. Leaning against the wall, was Geralt in his ever-present blue tank top and the smallest pair of shorts that Jaskier had ever seen. While Jaskier was watching Geralt, Geralt’s gaze was fixated upon Eskel who was teaching in his own Kaer-Morhen branded tank-top, his arms and chest fully displayed.

Jaskier knew about Eskel’s scars. Had loved them from the moment that he had met the man. He supposed that they were very new to Geralt, something of an unknown quantity. It wouldn’t surprise Jaskier in the slightest if Eskel had been trying to hide his scars and his changed appearance from Geralt. Jaskier was more than relieved to see that Geralt wasn’t eyeing them with disgust but more with lust. He looked at Eskel as though he couldn’t get enough, which was more than a little reassuring for Jaskier. Jaskier knew that, despite all he had done, Eskel’s scars were a sore spot so to see Geralt still eyeing Eskel with hunger and want was a good thing.

If he was honest with himself, Jaskier hadn’t thought that classes at Kaer Morhen could get any more torturous for his libido. Apparently, he had been wrong. As they got to the sparring section of the class, Eskel called Geralt forward to help him demonstrate and Melitele’s tits, it was as though Jaskier was on set of a porn film. More than one of his fantasies about the two of them had started out like this admittedly just with a lot less punching and a lot less clothing.

And okay, so they were fighting rather than fucking, but the contrast between the two of them was just as gorgeous and everything that Jaskier had dreamed of. The way that they moved around each other, the way that they clearly knew how the other thought and moved, it was fascinating to watch. It definitely added more detail and fodder for Jaskier’s spank bank. It also meant that Jaskier was, once again, sat in Kaer Morhen having inappropriate thoughts and his cock pressing uncomfortably against his jeans.

The following day, feeling more than a little frustrated with how his attempts at flirting with Geralt were failing and more determined that they were going to sort the situation, Jaskier decided to trawl through previous contestants of Bake Off for some new ideas. Maybe Eskel was right. Maybe baking and singing was the way to go, the way to flirt. Most of the recipes he found were completely wanky and were unlikely to be eaten by anyone other than hipsters. Some of them had a definitely possibility about them, though. One thing was for certain, he was never baking anything with bacon in it.

Some of his experimental bakes were successful. Ones that featured salted caramel or peanut butter were always popular, especially with Aiden and Coën. Others were far from successful and either ended up in the bin or earned a particularly scathing comment from Yennefer. The surprising hit was the result of late-night internet shopping where Jaskier had bought a bunch of ingredients that he had never used before with the intention of experimenting. The result had been a matcha and white chocolate cake with mascarpone icing and decorated with white chocolate and freeze-dried raspberries.

It had been popular enough with a fair few of the regulars, but the surprising fan was Geralt. At least, Jaskier was assuming he was a fan. It had certainly garnered the biggest response from Geralt. Normally, Geralt wasn’t too enthusiastic about cake. He steered clear of Cahir’s brownies, as Lambert and Eskel did, and picked at Jaskier’s other creations, not looking particularly enamoured with any of them. The matcha cake was different. From the second that Geralt saw it, he was interested and voluntarily ordered cake himself, rather than Lambert, Eskel or Ciri ordering it for him. When it came to the moment of Geralt actually eating the cake, Jaskier had found himself holding his breath in anticipation. He had known that he wasn’t going to get a similar reaction to Eskel or Lambert but that was okay. Jaskier had trained himself to read Geralt and all of his micro-expressions and that was how he spotted it. The pleased twitch of Geralt’s lips, the slight widening of his eyes and the different inflection of his ‘hmm’.

He’d take it. The cake was going on the regular rotation alongside Eskel’s ultimate chocolate cake and Lambert’s lime and pistachio.

Phase one of seduce Geralt complete.

~*~

Geralt was more than confused when he returned from teaching his last class at Kaer Morhen one evening to find it deserted.

“Lambert? Dad? Ciri? Eskel?”

“It’s just me for the night.”

“Where are the others?”

“Vesemir is with Mousesack, Lambert is on a date with Aiden and Ciri is with Jas. I needed some time with you, just the two of us.”

“Strange. It’s felt like you’ve been trying to avoid being alone with me since I hit dirt. I distinctly remember trying to talk to you before and you were having none of it. You flat out denied that you were hiding something from me. The one time I kissed you, you walked away from me and you’ve never done that. Ever.”

“I had to sort some things out in my head.”

“What changed?”

“My eyes were opened. We need to have a conversation. One that’s been overdue since we were teenagers.”

“What are you saying?” Geralt shifted uncomfortably. This was a conversation that he had always tried to avoid. He wasn’t good with words; didn’t know how he could articulate himself clearly.

“I’m saying that I need to know how you feel about me. How you feel about us.” Eskel took a deep breath, almost as though he was steeling himself for what he was going to say next. “I need you to be honest with me. Because if we can’t define this, if we can’t be honest about it, then it stops.”

It felt like Geralt’s heart had stopped. He had never considered the possibility that Eskel would end what was between them. It felt like there was a buzzing in his ears and his chest felt tight. He couldn’t lose Eskel. His mouth and throat felt dryer than the Sahara, but he forced out the words that he had said countless times in his head.

“I love you.”

“What did you just say?” Eskel’s voice was faint, almost disbelieving.

“I love you.” They came easier the second time. They felt right.

"You never said anything."

Geralt gave a rueful smile and made eye contact. "I didn't think I had to. You've always understood me without me having to explain everything, I thought you understood this as well."

"Then how do you explain Yennefer?"

"I always came back to you!"

“And I was supposed to understand that?!”

“Well why did you never say anything?”

Eskel barked out his own laugh. “Because I was insecure. Because I was a coward. Because if I said anything, I might hear something that I didn’t like in response.”

Geralt was confused, “what could I have said that you wouldn’t like?”

“That I was nothing more than a convenience, a tool for exploration.”

“ _Eskel…”_ Geralt cursed himself, “nothing could be further from the truth. You’re everything.”

“ _Fuck, Geralt._ ” Eskel’s voice was distinctly shaky. “Look at you using your words. Who knew it was possible?”

Geralt moved closer, breathing in that scent that was pure Eskel and one hand hovering over those oh so familiar features, “we’ve wasted so many years.”

“Not wasted. Not truly.” Eskel reached out and took hold of Geralt’s hand, tangling their fingers together.

“Are you going to let me kiss you now?”

Instead of responding, Eskel reached out and cupped Geralt’s face, guiding their lips together. It was nothing more than a press of lips. Breathing in the same air as each other. Breathing in the scent of each other. When they pulled apart, it was for less than a second before they were kissing again.

It was still chaste.

Slow.

Exploratory.

It was everything they had been waiting for.

Pulling away slowly, Geralt used their entangled fingers to tug Eskel to his feet, leading him in the direction of his bedroom.

(~*~)

As soon as the bedroom door clicked shut behind them, Geralt took Eskel into his arms and simply embraced him. Allowed himself to revel in it. In the way that they felt right in each other’s arms. The feeling of contentment and pure rightness that settled in his bones. The scent of Eskel. The feel of him. So familiar yet being seen through new eyes.

It felt different now that they had allowed themselves to say the words. That they had acknowledged what they actually meant to each other.

Pulling back and cupping Eskel’s face, Geralt leant in slowly, not wanting to rush anything, determined to savour every minute. Wanting to see every single detail of Eskel’s reaction, Geralt kept his eyes open as he pressed his lips to Eskel’s, gold locked on amber, intent on pouring every single scrap of what he was feeling into the kiss. He didn’t hold back.

Love, fear, desire, hope.

Nearly twenty years of emotions.

All of it.

Eskel’s reaction was immediate. He wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, fingers scrubbing through short hair and Geralt found himself missing a time when his hair had been long enough for Eskel to twine his fingers in it and tug. Eskel’s lips were pliant under his and when Geralt licked at the seam, they parted with alacrity.

Hands roaming chests, backs and arses, they only paused their kisses when it became a necessity for air or removing tops. When they were both naked, Geralt pushed Eskel back onto the bed, standing over him and drinking in his fill, only stopping when Eskel’s shoulders started to hunch in discomfort. Then Geralt crawled onto the bed, stretching out next to him.

Eskel was clearly self-conscious about the newer scars that covered his body and twisted trying to hide them, but they entranced Geralt and his fingers lingered there even longer. To him they represented Eskel’s courage and strength. His innate goodness. Geralt let his lips follow his fingers, soft kisses covering Eskel’s skin, tongue tracing the lines that varied through shades of red to pink and then faint silver, all of them telling the story of Eskel’s life.

“Are you just going to stare at me all day, wolf, or are you going to get on with it?”

Geralt nipped at Eskel’s hipbone in response, groaning when Eskel simply spread his thighs obscenely in encouragement. He dipped his head and licked a thick stripe up the underside of Eskel’s cock before engulfing it in his mouth, using years of knowing what Eskel liked to spiral his pleasure ever higher. For his part, Eskel clawed at Geralt’s shoulders before moving one broad hand to the back of Geralt’s head, coaxing him to take more of Eskel’s shaft into his throat.

“Shit, fuck, YES! Melitele’s tits, where do you keep your sodding lube?”

Geralt could feel Eskel’s torso contorting to try and find Geralt’s lube, even as his hips bucked up, his cock steadily fucking Geralt’s mouth. And then slick covered Geralt’s fingers, allowing him to press first one then two fingers inside Eskel, unerringly searching out that bundle of nerves and stroking over it until he was lifting his arse, bucking as though he was trying to take Geralt’s fingers further into his body, grunts and growls of pleasure escaping him as he did so.

This was what Geralt had wanted, what he had missed. Eskel in his bed. Falling apart at his hands.

Loved.

Geralt wanted to take things slowly, to savour them, but he was equally desperate to move things on. So was Eskel.

“Enough, it’s enough, just fuck me.”

He clearly had no intention of waiting for Geralt, wrapping a slick hand around Geralt’s cock and hitching his hips away from Geralt’s fingers. Geralt took the hint and replaced his fingers with his cock. He pressed in steadily until he was buried balls-deep in Eskel, until the back of Eskel's thighs were pressing into the front of his and then he paused, hands clamped down on Eskel’s hips to keep him as still as possible. Revelling in the sensation. Eskel didn’t protest; he simply wound his legs around Geralt’s waist, spreading himself wider and fully pulling Geralt’s bulk on top of him, arching his neck so that they could kiss, even as Geralt started to move.

This was love-making, pure and simple. There was no other way to describe it. Geralt found it easier to demonstrate his feelings for Eskel like this, with actions rather than words.

It had never felt like this with anyone else. Not even Yennefer. Just right.

With every thrust that Geralt made, they exchanged long, deep kisses. Sweet kisses. Languorous kisses. Eskel wrapped his thighs around Geralt’s hips, canting his hips up so that Geralt could thrust even deeper, clinging to Geralt’s shoulders. Eskel had encompassed all of his senses, scent, sight, touch. He felt Eskel shift so that he could wrap a hand around his cock, stroking himself in time with Geralt’s thrusts. It didn’t take long before he was coming, spilling himself over his stomach with a sharp cry. Geralt continued driving into Eskel but it wasn’t more than a few thrusts before he reached his own orgasm with a low growl, slumping over Eskel and pressing kisses across the parts of his shoulders he could reach.

With exhaustion – more emotional than physical - starting to set in, Geralt couldn't face moving to the bathroom to get something to clean them up with, the simple task seeming as though it required herculean effort. Instead, he stretched one arm out and managed to snag the edge of his tank top, dragging it closer. Slipping out of Eskel gently, Geralt wiped him clean, Eskel moaning slightly as the fabric brushed across overly sensitive skin. Cursorily swiping the top over himself, Geralt tossed it over the edge of the bed and lay back onto sheets damp with the sweat of their exertions. To his amusement - and delight - it took Eskel all of five seconds to abandon the actual pillows for Geralt's shoulder, pressing a sleepy kiss to the skin before pressing his face into Geralt's neck and going limp along Geralt's side. That was new. Geralt liked it.

Even once he had cleaned them up, Geralt couldn’t stop himself from touching Eskel. He revelled in the fact that Eskel was in his arms, in his bed. That he could trace his fingers over the scars, could nuzzle into his neck as Eskel snuffled in his sleep.

He wasn’t going to take this for granted, not again.

(~*~)

The bed had been empty when Eskel woke but that wasn't anything new. Over the years, he'd never quite worked out if Geralt was desperate to avoid talking or if he was just one of those people that had to get up as soon as he woke. Eskel had always liked having that little bit of time lazing in bed, something that he had grown to appreciate even more since he had started sleeping with Jaskier. It was amazing how much more conducive it was to laze in bed longer when you had a lover there with you. Eskel wasn't exactly limping as he made his way down the stairs to the kitchen, but he was definitely moving more gingerly than normal.

As he headed towards the kitchen, he could the voices of his whole family and smiled. Events might not have occurred how he, Lambert or Geralt had planned them but he couldn’t help but regret them. Everyone was here, back at Kaer Morhen, and that felt right. The only thing that would make it better would be if Jaskier was here. Was part of it. Walking into the kitchen, he made straight for the coffee pot and had managed to inhale half his mug before Ciri had attached herself to his ribs, hugging him tightly.

“Uncle Eskel! You’ve remembered that you have a room here; it feels like I haven’t seen you at breakfast in ages. You’re always with Jas but you always have dinner here. You do know that you’re an adult; you don’t have to sneak out and see your boyfriend, don’t you?”

Eskel shoved a couple of slices of bread in the toaster, “who said I was sneaking anywhere?”

Any response was lost beneath the sound of a mug shattering as it fell to the floor, sending shards of porcelain and scalding hot coffee everywhere.

“Boyfriend?” Geralt’s strangled question was clearly audible in the silence.

“Papa, are you okay? That coffee was really hot and all it’s all over your hands and…”

“I’m fine. You said boyfriend? A boyfriend? Eskel?” Geralt batted away Vesemir as he tried to clean up some of the mess that had been made.

Ciri looked uncomfortable, clearly not oblivious to the tension that had arisen in the room. “Yeah. Uncle Eskel is dating Jaskier. They’ve been together for months and it’s so cute. Papa, you should have seen it. It was so cute, like one of those rom coms we always watch together. Jas sang to Uncle Eskel at one of the Wanderlust open mic nights and then Uncle Eskel asked him out.”

Ciri’s words were swiftly followed by the clatter of Geralt’s chair scraping across the kitchen floor followed by it crashing to the floor as Geralt left the room without uttering a word. A minute later, they all heard the front door slam shut.

“Did I say something wrong?” Ciri turned huge eyes on Eskel, her look rivalling the saddest looking Bambi. “Uncle Eskel? Did Papa not know about you and Jas? Was it supposed to be a secret?”

“Don’t you worry, cub. It’s nothing that he wasn’t going to find out eventually. Go on now and I’m sure Jask will give you one of Cahir’s pastries and a _small_ coffee. I’ll sort your dad out.”

“Promise?”

“Promise, cub. Look, we’ll order from Temeria tonight and explain everything. Go on, or you’ll be late for school if you stop at Wanderlust.”

Eskel herded Ciri downstairs and saw her head into Wanderlust before he headed into Kaer Morhen, following the sound of angry grunts and fists hitting a punching bag to find Geralt laying into a bag with his bare fists.

“You really should be wearing wraps, you know. You’re going to damage your hands if you keep going like that.”

“Like you give a shit.”

Eskel rolled his eyes but simply sat down, knowing that Geralt was stubborn as they came but he wasn’t completely stupid. At least not about things like this. As he had expected, Geralt kept going for another couple of minutes before he kicked the bag and headed in Eskel’s direction, slumping onto one of the risers.

“Have you finished acting like a drama queen? Yennefer would be proud.”

“You’re fucking him? That that … _baking bard_?”

“Can you not sound so derisory? And I’m more than fucking him, Geralt. I love him.”

Geralt snorted, “did you love him last night when you were in my bed letting me fuck you? When you told me that you loved me?”

Eskel shifted. He should have known that this was going to happen. He should have dealt with this last night. “Oh please, don’t act so high and mighty. You definitely came to my bed straight from Yennefer’s on more than one occasion. In fact, that comment sounds as though she could have said it.”

“You never did like her, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. But my feelings for Yennefer have nothing to do with this conversation.”

“But my behaviour when I was with her does? That makes it okay that you cheated on your boyfriend with me?”

Eskel ignored the jibe about Geralt’s behaviour. Yennefer was a conversation for another time. “Who said it was cheating?”

Geralt got that slight furrow in his forehead he always did when he was confused. The one that shouldn’t be quite so attractive. “What are you talking about?”

“Is it cheating if Jaskier knew that it was going to happen? If Jaskier knows about the relationship between you and I?”

“What kind of person would agree to that?”

“A person who’s one of a kind, the kind of person of loves me enough to not make me choose between the two people that _I_ love.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Jaskier knows that I love you and have done for the best part of twenty years. He also knows that I love him.”

“But…”

“Jaskier is, in addition to loving me, very attracted to you.”

“Very attracted … has he been flirting with me?”

“He has. Clearly not successfully. Jaskier and I love each other and are dating. I love you. Jaskier is very attracted to you. Not the most conventional set-up but there you have it. Look, Jaskier and us aside, you really upset Ciri with your reaction. She needs to understand what’s going on. What’s gone on between us. You may not be ready – Melitele’s tits, I don’t think I am - but I’d rather she finds out from us than anyone else. You’ve got the rest of the day to prepare yourself. Just try not to do anything else stupid; you know where the wraps are if you need them.”

(~*~)

Geralt waited until Eskel had left, the demonic creature he called a therapy goat clip-clopping behind him before he reached for the wraps. He had a lot to work out and punching something while he thought would help. He also really didn't want to have Eskel's disappointed face directed at him if he turned up with bloodied and bruised knuckles.

Geralt had had such high hopes for his return and now his head was reeling.

Eskel had someone. A lover. Someone that wasn't Geralt. In all the time that they had been together, Geralt had never known Eskel to even look at anyone else. Selfishly, he had rather enjoyed it, even if he had rather cruelly taken other people to bed. Now, he had some inkling of how Eskel must have felt all of those times. How had Eskel borne it?

The previous evening had been everything that Geralt had ever wanted from his relationship with Eskel. With them having finally laid aside their insecurities and confessed their feelings to each other, everything felt different. It felt lighter yet more imbued with emotion than ever. After weeks – years - of avoidance and awkwardness, Geralt had felt like there was a light at the end of the tunnel. And then this morning’s revelation had hit him like a freight train.

He didn’t doubt Eskel’s words from the previous evening or that morning. Didn’t doubt for even a fraction of a second that Eskel loved him. Geralt knew that, while Eskel wasn’t completely innocent, his own inability to convey his thoughts and feelings had not necessarily driven Eskel towards Jaskier but had at least paved the way. He could understand the appeal of the younger man, could even see how he and Eskel would make a good couple.

And that brought him onto what Eskel had said just before he left. That Jaskier was attracted to Geralt. How did he feel about Jaskier? Geralt had heard plenty about him, mostly from Lambert and Ciri. He had always wondered why Eskel had been so silent on the subject of Jaskier – surely he would know Jaskier as well as the others – but now that silence made sense; Geralt knew Eskel well enough that he would have been able to deduce Eskel’s attachment. He thought back to that video that Lambert had sent them all those months ago of Jaskier singing in Wanderlust. Thought about that jolt of attraction he had felt and then ruthlessly supressed. Geralt allowed himself to acknowledge it now. Allowed himself to think of the prettiest blue eyes that he had ever seen. Full lips that seemed to be permanently curved in a smile. Muscular thighs and a plush arse that had definitely made Geralt forgot his asanas in class more than once.

He was conflicted.

There was only one thing that Geralt knew for sure. He wanted Eskel in his life. More than that, he needed him. He just had to decide how he felt about Jaskier.

More punching was definitely required for that.

~*~

The pizza had gone cold on the table and Lambert and Eskel’s beers were verging on lukewarm when Vesemir finally lost his patience and went after Geralt. He had been in Kaer Morhen all day ever since Eskel had spoken to him following the breakfast revelations and had refused to come out for anyone or anything, snapping and snarling at anyone who had dared to interact with him. He didn’t stand a chance against Vesemir though. Retired though he may be, it made no difference whatsoever. Less than five minutes later, Vesemir returned with Geralt by the scruff of the neck grousing that he was too old to be treated like this.

“Well maybe if you weren’t behaving like such an idiot, then I wouldn’t have to treat you like a cub, would I?”

“Why did Grandpa have to drag Papa in here like that?”

“Because your Papa is a giant child, who would rather hide from his feelings and damage himself physically rather than have a conversation using words other than ‘fuck’ or ‘hmm’.” Vesemir didn’t bother with a beer and instead went straight for something stronger.

“Thanks so much, Dad. I didn’t realise this was going to be a family occasion. Do we really need the audience, Eskel?”

“Yes, we do. Look, this is going to be a fucking awkward and uncomfortable conversation for all of us, so we may just as well get it over with.”

“Is that more or less awkward than then conversation with Yennefer where she said Papa was some of the best sex she’s ever had? Because if it’s more, then I think I deserve a beer.”

Lambert didn’t say anything, just took a fresh beer out of the fridge and handed it to Ciri, only responding when Geralt glared at him. “What? The kid deserves a beer for this conversation. Quite frankly it’s the least she deserves.”

Ciri took a swig of the beer, wincing slightly at the taste and thinking that she might actually prefer the prosecco Yennefer had given her. “I have to admit that I’m a little unsure what can be more awkward than hearing about Yennefer and Papa…”

There was a long silence that was starting to verge on the uncomfortable. Knowing that he could take charge but not wanting to, Eskel prompted Geralt.

“Geralt?”

“What?”

“Talk to your daughter. Explain things.”

There was a long pause. A really long, fucking awkward pause where Eskel was positive that Geralt wasn’t going to say anything. Just as it reached the point where he was going to take-over, Geralt finally spoke. Considerably more than Eskel expected.

“You know that your uncles and I aren’t actually related, that Grandpa fostered us when we were a lot younger. Well, your Uncle Eskel and I have considered each other to be … more than brothers for many years. Our relationship has been more – physical – since we were teenagers. We just never defined what we were doing.”

There was silence as Ciri processed what she had just been told and Eskel and Geralt downed their beers, needing the liquid courage.

“So, what you’re saying is that you and Uncle Eskel have been having sex for years, but you didn’t talk about it? Even though it’s obvious that you love each other, even to people who are blind.”

“Pretty much.”

“So much makes sense now. This is why you said it was complicated when Triss and Coën asked if you were single, Uncle Eskel. This is why Papa reacted like that this morning. Grandpa? Have they always been this stupid?”

“Yes.”

“Hey!” Geralt went to protest but, knowing more of the story, Eskel didn’t bother.

“What? You have always been this stupid. Thinking you were keeping it such a big secret when I’ve known since before you started having at it and Lambert since not long after.”

“What?”

“You and Eskel have never been subtle, lad. Lambert and I have known for years, we were just waiting for you to find your balls and tell us. Melitele’s tits, the cub would have worked it out before too long.”

Geralt was clearly poleaxed and, making an executive decision, Eskel left out the fact that relations between Eskel and Geralt were the reason that Lambert had been discharged from the Marines early. Let Geralt recover from this revelation first.

“What I don’t understand is why you never talked? Surely, if you were having sex, you would talk about things.”

“The fact that you think so shows you’re more intelligent than us.” Eskel decided to take pity on Geralt. And himself. Let them keep something private from their cub; she didn’t need to know about his insecurities. “There are a lot of reasons that we didn’t talk, Ciri. Perhaps they weren’t the most sensible reasons, but they were reasons nonetheless.”

Vesemir spoke up, to Eskel’s gratitude. “You seem to be taking this well, cub.” The ‘maybe a little too well’ went unsaid. “All of us would understand if you didn’t understand or if you thought it was wrong. If you need time to process what we’re telling you, time to think about how you feel, that’s fine.”

“It’s Papa and Uncle Eskel. They’re not going to be wrong.”

“There are going to be a lot of people who will disagree with that, Ciri, if we decide to make this public. They will see the fact that Grandpa raised us both and say that we’re wrong and we shouldn’t be together.”

“Then I’ll fight them. Uncle Eskel says I’m doing really well at boxing and Uncle Lambert says I spend too much time with Yennefer and Jas says she’s terrifying.”

Lambert piped up for the first time, “you’re pretty amazing, Cub, you know that? How the fuck did you manage that with us raising you?”

Ciri giggled which broke the awkward atmosphere in the room but not for long. Eskel was picking at a piece of pizza, not entirely sure where to take the conversation next when Ciri piped up with another question. One that Eskel had been dreading.

“But if you and Papa are, you know, what about Jas? Uncle Eskel, you’ve been so happy with him and he loves you so much…”

“Little cub, I love Jask very much as well. I have absolutely no intention of hurting him if I can avoid it.”

It wasn’t until much later in the evening, just as she was heading to bed that Ciri left them with one parting comment. “You and Papa should both just date Jas, Uncle Eskel. It would make everything so much simpler and if anyone can make you and Papa both happy, it’s Jas.”

Yes, Ciri definitely wasn’t blood-related to them. She was far too intelligent and astute. But they were damn proud of her.

~*~

Given that flirting in person – and with words – had been a complete and utter fucking disaster, Jaskier had decided to fall back on Essi’s previous plan to seduce Eskel; utilising what he was good at.

That meant it was time for another open-mic night.

He had already reworked Geralt’s favourite cake – the ridiculous white chocolate and matcha concoction that Jaskier had stumbled upon – to include sake in the mascarpone buttercream and placed it on the menu for the evening alongside Eskel’s preferred ultimate chocolate cake that also had an alcoholic kick in the icing. Guaranteed food porn. Now, it was time for some vocal seduction. Everybody else had performed, now it was Jaskier’s turn. He accepted Eskel’s kiss and whispered words of encouragement before he walked to the small performance area, pulled out his guitar and checked the technical equipment. The anticipation in the room was tangible and Jaskier just hoped that this worked. If it didn’t, he and Eskel needed to come up with a new plan.

"This one's a bit special, so I hope you don't mind me having some backup."

"Yes! Get Eskel up there with you!"

Even at the distance he could hear Geralt’s surprised question and Eskel’s patience response.

"You sing?"

“You know I sing, Geralt…”

“No, I mean, _fuck …_ you’re good, I just didn’t think you’d ever sing in public.”

"Once or twice. Songbird can be persuasive when he wants to be."

Jaskier smiled to himself. He liked persuading Eskel, it was fun. He raised his voice, drawing attention back to himself. "No, I'm going to let Eskel sit this one out. It's new for him too; he’s never heard it before. No, my friend Essi helped me with this one and maybe we'll be able to do it for you live one day. I guess it depends on tonight's reaction."

Jaskier struck his first chord before starting to sing. The second he did, there was no doubt who the song was directed to and who he was singing about.

_I’ll keep the king  
When you are gone away  
Into darkness and howling I’ll keep him from drowning  
As our boat is untethered from the dock_

_I’ll keep the king  
Keep him safe at bay  
I’ll keep him safe from the dark things that wait  
In that house at the top of the rock  
In that house at the top of the rock_

Eskel was almost afraid to look at Geralt. Because Jaskier had looked after him. Had kept him safe when Eskel had been at his lowest. Geralt wasn’t the most astute but he would pick this up. Would understand it.

_There’ve been times I know  
I’ll stand up up up at the bow  
And the waves of our bodies and the smell of our follies  
Rips into the bark of my bones_

_You fumble through the dark  
However wide and deep and far my dear  
The waves made of fingers and the madness that lingers  
Rips into the bark of our bones_

Yet this song was clearly about Geralt as well. He may not have been physically injured as Eskel had been but that didn’t mean that he was unscathed. He needed to be looked after and kept safe, needed to have that support.

_And let the sea birds cry  
I’ll let the sea birds’ cry_

_I’ll keep the king  
I’ll keep the king  
I’ll keep him safe from the dark things that wait  
In that house at the top of the rock_

_I’ll smile as I climb the stairs (to the light)  
To the light that you keep burning there (all hell)  
And our muscles that are waltzing and our shadows that are bold sing  
Come rip up the flesh of my fears_

As the song progressed, Eskel tore his attention away from Jaskier with some difficulty as he felt Geralt tense at his side, shifting awkwardly in his seat. Eskel took a sip of his drink to his smile; he had known that Jaskier singing was going to be the turning point of this. The thing that got to Geralt.

_I know your fingernails are the colour of rust (come back)  
And your veins are empty of dust (but our voices)  
But our voices collide with each howl of the tide  
Singing all hell and its fire waits for us_

_And let the sea birds cry  
I’ll let the sea birds’ cry_

_I’ll keep the king  
I’ll keep the king  
I’ll keep him safe from the dark things that wait  
In that house at the top of the rock_

_And let the sea birds cry  
I’ll let the sea birds’ cry_

_The wind and its shackles, the old fishers tackles  
The sea and its waters, every unwanted daughter  
Every moon in the sky  
Every promise and lie_

_All that matters  
Is that you’re here  
All that matters_

_All hell_  
And its fire  
Waits for us

Amidst the rapturous applause for Jaskier, Geralt stood and left Wanderlust, the door not quite slamming shut behind him, his face unreadable. Eskel shot an apologetic look and blew a kiss at Jaskier and hurried after him.

“What the fuck was that Geralt? I know you can be an arse, but I’ve never seen you be such a cold bastard before.”

Geralt spun around and Eskel saw the truth of the matter. Saw what he had suspected had been happening while Jaskier sang. The slight tint of pink to the ears that was all but unnoticeable in the dim light. The bulge in his trousers wasn’t as easy to disguise, although Geralt was doing his best, tugging at the hem of his hoody. Tangible proof of Geralt’s arousal. The same reaction that they had both experienced upon seeing Lambert’s video all those months ago.

Fucking finally.

“So that’s how it is. Fucking finally. There’s no way you can seriously attempt to tell me that you’re not interested in Jaskier after that.”

“Does it really matter? What would be the point of saying it if I were? He’s dating you!”

“And we’re both interested in you! Has that not sunk into your thick skull yet, Geralt?”

“What are you suggesting, Eskel? That we both date him? Like Ciri said? How are people going to look at us?”

“Not much different from how they will look at us when they realise the situation between the two of us? Or are you planning on ignoring that as well and being a miserable celibate bastard for the rest of your life? And making Jaskier and I unhappy to boot?”

The sound of a gentle cough behind them alerted to the fact that Jaskier had joined them outside, Bleater cradled in his arms, and, behind him within the confines of Wanderlust but staring out of the windows, they still had an audience.

“Delighted as I am that you’re finally having this conversation, gentlemen, there are better places to have it. Nevertheless, Eskel isn’t wrong, Geralt. Istredd has offered to close; why don’t we go up to the flat and talk this over? All three of us.”

Geralt grunted his approval and Jaskier turned to signal to Istredd, apparently having pre-agreed it. As Eskel led Geralt to the outside entrance that led up to Jaskier’s little flat, he caught Yennefer’s gaze and she raised her martini glass to him in a silent toast. In celebration or commiseration, Eskel wasn’t sure.

Once inside, Geralt made for the solitary armchair, slumping into it while Eskel made for his usual spot on the sofa, relaxing somewhat as Jaskier slumped into his side, Bleater headbutting his bicep for pets, even if she stayed in Jaskier’s arms. Silence reigned until Geralt spoke up, his voice hoarse and his head cradled in his hands.

“Is this – him – because I wasn’t good enough?”

“No, Geralt. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

"I'm not trying to take Eskel away from you, Geralt. I promise you that.”

“Then what?” Geralt levelled an accusing gaze at Jaskier, “if you’re not trying to take Eskel away from me and he claims that I’m good enough, what are you suggesting then?”

“A polyamorous relationship between the three of them.”

Geralt’s laugh had an undeniable bitter and brittle edge, “it’s that simple, is it?”

“No. That’s endgame. Before that, we date. Eskel and I already know that we work well as a couple, it’s the other elements that are unknown. You and I, you and Eskel.”

“Eskel and I work well together.”

“As soldiers, yes. As men who grew up together from boys, yes. Parenting Ciri? Yes. As a couple? Who knows? You two certainly don’t because you’ve never tried. You know that you love each other, that you’re attracted to each other and that you have sexual chemistry, but you have never dated. You need to give yourselves the opportunity to try. I am suggesting that you and I go on a date, Geralt and that you and Eskel go on a date. Depending on the success or the failure of said dates, we need to sit down and have another conversation. So, what do you say, Geralt? Will you date us?”

Both Jaskier and Eskel held their breath as Geralt ruminated over what Jaskier had said. This was the moment that could, potentially, be the start of something phenomenal or it could put them in an incredibly awkward position. When Geralt stood, they prepared themselves for the latter only for hope to flare as he kissed Eskel sweetly and chastely, his fingertips ghosting over Jaskier’s cheek before he petted Bleater hesitantly.

“If Ciri agrees, then yes. We’ll date.”

As the door clicked softly shut behind Geralt and his footsteps faded into the distance, Jaskier and Eskel fell into each other and a victorious kiss. Ciri was one of their biggest advocates; there was no way that she was going to say no.

They had dates to plan.


	12. Wise Men Say Only Fools Rush In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have all the dates!

Ciri jumped at the unexpected sound of tapping on the window behind her. Spinning around on the piano stool, she beamed at seeing her Papa and hurried over to let him into the locked cafe. She gave him a hug and pulled him inside, locking the door behind him.

"Papa! I thought you were teaching tonight?"

"Late cancellations. Which means I get paid and the evening off; I thought we could

do something just the two of us." There was a pause as Geralt grimaced, "we probably need to talk about everything as well."

"Sure, what are we doing?"

"It's up to you. We can go out for dinner and the cinema or we'd have the house to ourselves, I think, if you wanted to go home."

Ciri cocked her head as she considered her options. "Can we do that? There's a film on Netflix the girls at school have been talking about and we could get takeaway from Temeria. Their pizza is amazing. Jas ordered from there when Uncle Eskel was being stupid about his scars and Uncle Lambert had to sort him out."

"Pizza and Netflix it is." Geralt was about to say something when a snatch of song drifted through the kitchen door and he stopped to listen for several minutes.

He had heard Jaskier sing before – the original video that Lambert had sent to their group chat and last night for starters – but this was something different. On both of those occasions, Jaskier had been performing whereas now, he was completely oblivious to the fact that he had an audience. It didn’t change the fact that Jaskier had a voice made for sin.

It had an affect on Geralt that he wasn’t expecting. An actual visceral response. It felt like a goddamn caress, sending shivers up Geralt’s spine and creating goosebumps on his skin. Surely, with a voice like that, Jaskier could have made it as a professional? Not that Geralt was complaining. If Jaskier had gone into life as a professional musician, then he would never have come to the attention of Kaer Morhen and, though he hadn’t been around long, Geralt knew that his family would be worse off if Jaskier wasn’t in their lives.

Jaskier changed the song that he was singing and his voice shifted again, taking on a rougher edge that sounded gravelly and growly. Almost as though he had been screaming or moaning for a long time. At that, Geralt couldn’t help the stray thought that wondered if Jaskier’s voice was as sinful in bed as it was singing. What kind of noises could be wrung out of him? Did they sound anything like his singing?

Oblivious to Geralt’s thoughts, Ciri smiled and bounced at Geralt’s side. “It’s so good to hear him sing again. There were a couple of weeks when you got home where it was all weird and I hated it. Uncle Eskel was being all weird and Jas was sad and not singing.” 

Geralt understood what she was trying not to say so as not to hurt him, “you blamed me.”

“A bit.” Ciri leaned against Geralt’s side and buried her face in his chest, “a lot. It just didn’t feel fair. I’d spent so long wanting you home, even though I had Uncle Lambert and Uncle Eskel. I got you home and everyone else went weird.”

“I’m sorry, cub. I never intended for that to happen.” And Geralt hadn’t, he really hadn’t.

Ciri shrugged, “I know that. And Jas told me I was being a bit unfair when I said I’d kick your arse. Then he let me eat chocolate ganache out of the bowl.” Trying to avoid looking at Geralt, her gaze alighted on the piano and she changed the subject, “can I play my piece for you before we go?”

“Of course! I hadn’t realised you were learning to play.” Undoubtedly one of many things he had missed over the years.

“I thought I said it on Skype, but maybe I forgot. Uncle Eskel has been teaching me how to box and Jas is teaching me to play the piano. I come and do my practice after school.”

Geralt took a seat and watched as Ciri proceeded to play a piece that he recognised but couldn’t put a name to. Mozart, perhaps, or Beethoven? It wasn’t completely fluent – some places could only be described as laborious, with Ciri’s tongue sticking out as she concentrated – but it was better than Geralt had expected. It was certainly a long way from the last time he had heard her play. She then segued into a piece that Geralt didn’t recognise but that was clearly more familiar to Ciri. There was no hesitance this time and she sang along quietly, Geralt able to make out something vague about pirates. It didn’t quite sound complete though, almost as though something was missing, a fact that Ciri confirmed when she finished.

“It doesn’t sound quite right by myself; usually Jas and Uncle Eskel help me sing it.”

“I still can’t quite imagine Eskel performing in public. He would only ever play in the mess hall when everyone else was drunk.”

“If you want to hear him sing, Uncle Eskel helps me practice and he usually sings one song at open mic nights here.”

“I have something to look forward to then.” Honestly, given his reaction to Jaskier, Geralt was pretty convinced that he would behave inappropriately in public if he heard Eskel sing. Jaskier may be a trained singer and could wield his voice like a weapon of seduction, but Eskel was something else for Geralt. “Are you ready for pizza and Netflix?”

"Sure, just let me tell Jas.” Ciri moved away from the piano and towards the door that the singing had been coming from. “Jas, Papa’s come to pick me up so we can talk. Can I come and finish my practice tomorrow?"

Jaskier came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands with a tea towel, “did you say something Ciri?”

“Papa came to get me for pizza and a chat. Is it okay if I come back tomorrow night and do my practice then?”

Jaskier eyed Geralt with a speculative look, clearly knowing what the conversation would be about, “I think that can be arranged. Temeria?” He smiled as Ciri nodded eagerly, “good choice. I expect to hear all of the gossip later, okay? Enjoy yourself, Ciri.”

“Thanks, Jas!”

Ciri’s chatter as she relayed details about the customers that had come into Wanderlust over the day as well as her questions about Geralt’s day saw them through the short walk home and while they were waiting for their pizza to arrive. Once it had arrived and they were ensconced on the couch, Ciri couldn’t contain her curiosity.

“So, what did you want to talk about Papa?”

Well, thank fuck for Ciri just asking outright because Geralt hadn’t had a clue how to broach the subject. They'd probably still have been sat there at 3am well past her bedtime waiting for him to start the conversation.

"When we told you about myself and Eskel being … involved, you were concerned about Jaskier…"

"Yeah. I mean, I know you and Uncle Eskel have history, but he’s been so happy with Jas. I still think you should just date both of them. It makes sense and solves all the problems. Then you can all be happy." Ciri levelled Geralt with a look that was scarily like her grandmother. "Hang on, why are you asking me that? Are you considering dating both of them? You are, aren't you?"

"Both Eskel and Jaskier have made it very clear to me that they are interested in exploring a relationship between the three of us and would like to go on some dates."

Ciri's squeal was just as piercing now as it had been when she had been four and playing with a puppy at the barracks. "This is so exciting!! When's the first date? Who is it with or is it both of them? Where are you going to go?"

Geralt winced, "I haven't agreed to a date yet."

"What? Why not?"

"Because I wasn't sure how you felt about all of this. I didn't want to agree without knowing you were okay with it."

"Grandpa was right about you being stupid," Ciri grumbled as she fumbled for her phone, calling a number as soon as she located it. “Jas? Uncle Eskel? You’re on speakerphone. Papa just asked me about you guys dating. Consider this to be me saying yes. I want you both to date Papa. Start planning!”

"Are you sure, cub?"

“100%. Don’t disappoint me, Uncle Eskel.”

“Would I ever? Love you, cub.”

“Love you too. Love you too, Jas.”

Jaskier’s voice came over the line, a song like quality to it. "Love you too, Ciri. By the way, this definitely makes you my favourite employee."

Before she could hang up, Eskel’s voice came across the line, full of amusement. “Ciri? You look after your Papa for me; he’s probably having a breakdown at the concept of having to talk about his feelings.”

Geralt growled at him, loud enough for Eskel to hear it and the last thing that they heard as he hung up was Eskel’s laughter and Ciri joined in giggling. Geralt even cracked a smile before he sobered.

“Are you truly okay with this, Cub? Not just about Jaskier but about Uncle Eskel and I. You’re not simply saying this because you feel like it’s what we want to hear?”

Ciri’s gaze was scornful and so purely Calanthe it was as though Geralt had gone back in time.

“When have I ever done that? Grandma taught me to speak my mind and you’ve all been the same since I became yours. If I didn’t want it or if I thought it was a bad idea, I would say so.”

“And I am more than grateful for that. However, I know that it’s weird hearing about the man that you have always called Uncle and your adopted dad are in a relationship.”

“Maybe. Maybe not if you live in Kaer Morhen. You’ve always acted differently with Uncle Eskel than you have with Uncle Lambert. Not loads different but different enough. I suppose finding this out makes more sense. The two of you make sense together. You’ve always been a bit more touchy-feely with Uncle Eskel and you were really worried when he came home injured. I still can’t picture you and Yennefer dating but I can with Uncle Eskel. You understand each other and you’re both so much happier when you’re around each other. Am I making sense?”

"Perfect sense. I know we said it before and we can't take all of the credit, but you really are amazing, Ciri. You're turning into an incredible young woman. Your parents would be so proud of you, as would Calanthe and Eist."

Ciri’s pale skin flushed at the compliment from Geralt, “thanks, Papa.”

“Can we stop talking now?”

“Hmm. Okay, I think you might have suffered enough. Let me find the film. It’s supposed to be really good but a bit sad in places.” Ciri gave a wicked grin, "don't worry, I won't tell Uncle Lambert if you cry."

"I take back every single word I just said. You're an evil child. We should have left you on the doorstep. _Ooof!_ " Geralt grunted as Ciri punched him hard in the ribs.

“Lies, all lies. You love me really.” Ciri grabbed the remote and flopped all over Geralt, leaning in close to peck him on the cheek. “I’m really glad you’re home, Papa. And I’m really glad that you’re giving Uncle Eskel and Jas a chance; I think they’ll make you happy and you’ll make them happy. All of you deserve it.”

Geralt swallowed hard and, even so, had to clear his throat several times before he gave up trying to find the words and simply pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of Ciri’s head.

~*~

Jaskier looked up at the sound of the door opening and smiled at seeing Eskel walk through the door, Geralt trailing behind him. Leaning over the counter, Jaskier pressed a kiss to Eskel’s scarred cheek and barely hesitated before pressing one to Geralt’s. He didn’t regret it when he saw the look of astonished pleasure on Geralt’s face.

"Well, isn't this a welcome sight. What are the two of you doing here? Lunchtime at Kaer Morhen? Are you eating here or picking up for Lambert and Vesemir as well?"

When there was no response, Jaskier turned around in disbelief as he figured out precisely why they were here. He stared at them, taking no little delight in the way they shuffled uncomfortably beneath his gaze.

“You wouldn’t be here on your date by any chance, would you, gentlemen?”

“Would it be a problem if we were?” Geralt’s tone of voice was defensive, while Eskel just shifted from side to side.

“Darling man, it’s never a problem to see you here and, after today, I will be over the moon to welcome you to Wanderlust for as many dates as you like. However, I cannot let you have your first date here.”

“Why not?”

“Are you here because you actually want to have a date here? Are you here because you both think that you should be because of me? Or are you here because the prospect of a date with each other is almost too overwhelming and you’ve gone for the easy option so you don’t freak out?”

“You’re too fucking astute, Songbird.”

“Not always. I’m just getting better at understanding the men of Kaer Morhen. You’re here now, so I expect you to stay for lunch. Go and take a seat and I’ll bring lunch over to you.”

Jaskier watched as the two of them made their way to a table underneath the mural but slightly closer to the piano than Geralt would usually sit. The two of them were looking slightly awkward, as though they didn't really know what to do with themselves or each other and he wondered if they had been like that all morning. The temptation to message Lambert was high, but Jaskier couldn't be that cruel. Instead, he set about making their coffees and selecting sandwiches, carrying over the heavy tray and being careful not to trip over Lil’ Bleater as she wove around his ankles.

"Here we go! Cahir’s been experimenting again but everyone's enjoying it so far. Don’t pull a face, dear heart. I know you won’t eat his brownies, but Cahir’s bread is far better than anything I can make. Now, I'm going to take this little darling with me,”

Jaskier scooped up Lil’ Bleater, “and leave you to enjoy your lunch. When I get back, I want to hear where you're going to go on your date."

Jaskier took the miniature goat back with him to behind the counter, settling her with some of the biscuits that he had formulated especially for her, while he started to help Sabrina serve the rest of the lunch rush. As he did so, he kept an eye on the two men in the corner. He was pleased to see the two of them gradually start to relax. He could see the tension drain from Eskel’s shoulders and how the quirk of Geralt’s lips turned into a proper smile that came more frequently until he actually gave a full belly laugh.

Watching the two of them together, Jaskier could easily see the familiarity between them. The kind that implied years together. The way that they leant into each other, the glances exchanged between them, Jaskier had no doubt that the two of them dating was going to work. Geralt and Eskel were all but made for each other. 

Fuck, Jaskier really needed this to work out between himself and Geralt because he really wanted to be able to call these two men his. Still, he couldn’t rush it. Or them. Time would tell. Checking Lil’ Bleater was still happy enough with her little nest beneath the counter, he squared his shoulders and walked over to Geralt and Eskel.

“So, have you made a decision?”

“Yes. We’ve been talking and we’re going to go to The Skellige tonight.”

“The Skellige?! You can’t go there for a first date!”

“I took you to the Skellige for our first date! Well, eventually. After Kaedwen.”

Jaskier ignored Geralt’s choked ‘you took him to _Kaedwen?_ Why the _fuck_ would you do that?’ and continued to talk. “So you did, dear heart, and a very lovely evening it was too. However, how many times have you and Geralt visited there? Together? I have no doubt that it’s well into double figures. Geralt, you took _Ciri_ there less than a month ago. Going to The Skellige is another easy option for you, just like coming here. This is your first date together _ever_. You deserve better than Wanderlust and you definitely deserve better than The Skellige.”

Jaskier took a step back, “now, if the Skellige is the best idea that you can come up with, I think you need help. I’m going to get you cake and I suggest that you phone Aiden and ask him for his suggestions; he seems to be doing a fantastic job of selecting locations for himself and Lambert.”

(~*~)

Eskel had taken Jaskier’s suggestion and asked Aiden for somewhere that he and Geralt could go for their date and Aiden had proposed the Inn at the Crossroads, a small pub on the other side of the university campus. Unsurprisingly, once they arrived, he had come up trumps and it was perfect. It was more of a traditional pub than the Skellige and was quiet which they both appreciated. They settled into a table tucked into a corner and perused the menu, ordering some food and a pint each. They made comfortable small talk about Kaer Morhen until their drinks arrived and then, having taken several large pulls of his beer, Geralt spoke.

“Dad made a comment when we spoke to Ciri. About us not being subtle and both he and Lambert having known for years…”

“Yeah. I mean, Dad just knows because he’s Dad. Lambert … he caught us at it more than once.”

Geralt choked on his pint, “what?! Shit!”

“Yeah. He took me to Nilfgaard and gave me alcohol to make me talk about my feelings. When he told me he knew, I started sinking the vodka.” Eskel gave a rueful shake of his head, “I’d kind of suspected that we hadn’t kept it as secret as we thought.”

“How long has he known?”

“Since before he enlisted.”

“ _Fuck._ ”

“Yeah. That time at the back of the mess hall? He saw that.”

A smirk crossed Geralt’s lips, “that was a good time.”

“Yeah, well, that was just one of many occasions where he caught us at it. We owe Lambert big time. He can be an annoying little prick from time to time – he’s our little brother, it goes with the territory - but we’re the reason that he was discharged.”

“What?”

Eskel was forced to pause his explanation as their food arrived but, as soon as the waitress was out of earshot, he continued talking. “yeah. We were not as subtle as we thought we were, and someone saw us. One of American squaddies. Some twat with bigoted views. He started talking shit in earshot of Lambert and you know him; fiery red head and all that. The Yank was threatening to report us, saying we shouldn’t be allowed to serve and that it was illegal. Lambert shut him up with his fists and said goodbye to the Marines.”

“We definitely owe him.”

“When you think how we can pay him back, you tell me because I have no clue.”

They fell into silence while they tucked into their food, making sounds of appreciation. They were about half-way through when Eskel returned to their previous conversation.

“Speaking of discharge, are you ever going to tell us the truth why they discharged you? You’ve said nothing and we’re not stupid. The Marines would have kept hold of you until you retired if they could.”

Geralt grunted.

Unfortunately for him, Eskel was well-versed in both convincing Geralt to talk and waiting him out. As always, Geralt crumbled after no time at all.

“I didn’t take your injuries and departure well. Your avoidance when you got back to Kaer Morhen didn’t help anything. I’m not used to being by myself anymore, being without you. It was hard after Lambert left, but I had you. Without you by my side? It was brutal. I didn’t want to be there anymore. I wanted to be back at Kaer Morhen with you and Ciri. With Lamb and Dad. Instead, I was stuck in a warzone by myself. The rest of the squad weren’t you guys. Weren’t family. After your run-in with the suicide bomber, I started taking more and more risks. Each one escalated more and more. I was careless and reckless and top brass realised that I wasn’t going to stop. They did the only thing they could; they sent me home.”

Eskel leant across the table and pressed a surprisingly desperate kiss to Geralt’s lips. “Fuck, Geralt. You bloody idiot. What if it hadn’t worked? Did you think about that? What if you had died? What would we would have done then?”

“I wasn’t really thinking.”

“Clearly not.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Maybe don’t tell Ciri why you came home. I don’t know how she would take it.”

“Agreed.”

With the serious conversations over, the two of them retreated to safer conversation topics; Ciri, Kaer Morhen, Lambert and Aiden. It felt like no time at all before they had finished their dinner and were walking home, close enough that their shoulders were touching and their hands were brushing together. As they reached their front door, Geralt turned to Eskel and raised an eyebrow.

“What do you think then? Do we work as a couple?”

“I think we do.”

“Does that mean we get to finish this date with a kiss?”

“I think I can do you one better than that. I don’t want to have sex now, it doesn’t feel right at the moment, but I think, after everything, I need to sleep in the same bed tonight. Is that okay?”

“No complaints from me.”

The two of them moved inside and upstairs, going through their evening routine. When they were settled in Eskel’s bedroom, they exchanged several long kisses, wrapped in each other’s arms. Reassuring themselves after everything that Geralt had revealed over the course of the evening. As they settled, Geralt wrapped around Eskel, holding him tightly and nose buried in Eskel’s neck. Pressing a kiss there, he spoke quietly.

“Will you tell me about him? About Jaskier?”

Eskel looked over his shoulder, squirming until he could turn over and look Geralt in the eye. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything.”

“I don’t want to tell you too much because I want you to have to opportunity to get to know him yourself, just like I did. But, fuck, Geralt. I mean, I don’t need to tell you how attractive he is; you have eyes. It’s everything else. He’s fearless and talented and kind. The first time he met me, my scars were still livid wounds, and he didn’t bat an eyelid. He actually teased me about not knowing what kind of cake I liked. I turned up with Lil’ Bleater and he phoned the farm to figure out how to make biscuits she could eat safely. He’s amazing with Ciri, actually tries to verbally spar with Yennefer and just hugs Lambert when he’s being a prickly arsehole. I told him about the two of us and he said ‘oh’.”

“Oh?”

“Oh. When I said that I was expecting him to run off screaming or tell me I was going to hell, he responded that the best spaces are in the lowest circle.”

Geralt snorted with laughter at that. “He said that?”

“Absolutely. And then followed it up with the fact that he had had fantasies about the two of us together.”

“Hmm.”

At Geralt’s speculative hum, Eskel brushed his thumb across his cheekbone and leaned in to press a kiss to Geralt’s lips. When he pulled back, Geralt spoke.

“Do you think we can make this work? The three of us?”

Eskel’s leant in for another kiss and when he pulled back, his gaze radiated confidence, “I do. I genuinely think we can make it work and not just work.”

“Then I’d better not fuck up tomorrow night.”

“Better not.”

~*~

It was a somewhat frazzled Geralt that tumbled out of the front door when Jaskier rang the bell. Jaskier hadn’t seen the man looking anything other than composed since he got arrived, so it was a pleasant surprise. Made him appear more human rather than some kind of superhuman.

“Everything okay?”

“That demonic creature. Blasted cloven-hoofed hellspawn.”

Jaskier choked on his laugh. “Are you talking about Lil’ Bleater? She’s a sweetheart.”

“Not to me.

“Bleater’s just protective over Eskel. She certainly likes you better than Letho.”

“How do you know that?”

Jaskier’s grin was impish, “they haven’t told you the story?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Oh, this is good. Come on, I’ll tell you on our way to the restaurant. I hope you like Hungarian food. We’re going to Rosemary and Thyme; Zoltan, the chef-owner there is one of my regulars. Shall we?”

Geralt just looked on slightly bemused, trailing slightly after Jaskier as he led the way, chattering away.

“I didn’t see it myself, but I heard the story from a rather gleeful Ciri. By all accounts, Letho was being a dick and making comments about how he was considering leaving Kaer Morhen because it was run by a cripple and someone with anger management issues. Bleater took offence on behalf of Eskel and, before Eskel or Lambert could punch him, she got Letho in the groin.”

Geralt gave a bark of laughter, “maybe she’s going up in my estimation a little bit.”

“Bleater will come around; you just need to give her time. Maybe buy her a present. I hear she’s fond of poetry.”

“Huh?” But Geralt didn’t get a response because Jaskier was already off, chattering about something completely different.

Geralt had been a little worried. He knew that he hadn’t got off to the best start with Jaskier and given that it had worked between himself and Eskel, this was the date that everything depended on.

“Why Eskel?”

“Why ask me that when you know exactly why? He’s kind, funny, brave, loyal and gorgeous.”

Geralt couldn’t disagree with any of that. “Why me?”

“Why not?” Jaskier shrugged, “I mean, you’re gorgeous. You have to know that. So, yes, there is that but there’s also the stories that I’ve heard from Ciri. From Lambert and Eskel. I know that I don’t know you that well yet and we maybe didn’t have the most auspicious of starts but I like what I’ve heard. I mean you’re essentially a ridiculously attractive but somewhat emotionally constipated marshmallow. And maybe I need to stop talking right now. I just need to say this. I don’t make a habit of doing this, Geralt. I mean, I’ve had threesomes before but not a relationship. I’ve never considered it before.”

Geralt simply sat there, a bit taken aback by the barrage of words. He should probably be offended by Jaskier’s description of him, but given that his family regularly told him that he was emotionally constipated, he figured that Jaskier was actually just a good choice of character.

“So, I have to ask, yoga? I didn’t believe Lambert when he told me.”

Apparently, Geralt had been silent for too long. That used to piss Yennefer off something vicious but Jaskier didn’t seem bothered. “I took it up as rehab after an injury. Not what you were expecting?”

“Not in the slightest. Although I have no objections. I mean, have you seen you? I mean, between your yoga class and Eskel’s boxing class, who needs porn?”

“Can I kiss you?” Geralt looked almost as surprised as Jaskier felt at the question.

“Yes.”

It was awkward with the table in between them but it worked. Different for both of them - they were very aware that the person that they were kissing wasn’t Eskel – and it was nothing more than a press of lips, but it gave them hope.

Maybe this was going to work.

~*~

Jaskier was more than a little confused to find himself divested of his apron and pushed out of his own business thirty minutes before closing on a Saturday. Given the time, it wasn't as busy as it had been earlier in the day but there was still enough work for three of them. Which meant that Jaskier was confused why his employees seemed to have no compunction making more work for themselves.

"Istredd? What's going on?"

"We've got our orders. Trouble and I will close and lock up. Have a good night!"

"Orders? Nice night? What?" Jaskier sputtered as he was pushed through the door that led to his little flat. He tried the door handle, but it didn't move so he climbed the stairs. The door of his flat was open, and he couldn't help but be a little concerned; surely it wasn't burglars? He had barely stretched his hand out to push the door open, phone ready in his hand, when it swung open.

"Surprise!"

"Fuck! Ciri, what?"

"I borrowed your keys to let Uncle Eskel in. Sorry! Have fun!"

Ciri bounced past Jaskier with a hug and left behind a sheepish looking Eskel.

“I have to say, I'm hugely relieved you're not here to rob me. Is Bleater with you?” A bleat from somewhere in his flat answered his question. “What’s all this?”

“Sorry, I didn't think about that. I’m taking you out for the night, figured we needed some time to ourselves. I thought we’d go back to Oxenfurt.”

“Darling man, that is inordinately sweet of you, but can I tell you what I really want?”

Eskel nodded, obviously a little disappointed by Jaskier shooting down his plan. Or so he assumed.

"It's a lovely idea and I would love to go back to Oxenfurt some other time but, you're right, we need time to ourselves and we can do that better here. What I would love more than anything, seeing as I've been kicked out of my own café, is for us to have a long hot bath, order some takeaway and snuggle on the sofa."

“I don’t know that the two of us can fit in your bathtub, but I'm willing to give it a go."

**Thirty minutes later…**

“I take it all back. It’s not the most comfortable I’ve ever been but we do fit.”

“You just need to be creative, dear heart.”

Jaskier squirmed slightly on top of Eskel, the water sloshing dangerously near to the rim of the bath. He settled when Eskel wrapped his arms tighter around him, fingers burying themselves in his chest hair and carding through it rhythmically.

“How was your date with Geralt?”

“Better than I thought it would be.” Jaskier craned his neck, “why? Did he say differently?”

Eskel kissed Jaskier’s temple, “no. He was also pleasantly surprised. He didn’t offer more than it went well and I didn’t ask beyond that.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier settled back against Eskel’s chest but he didn’t relax fully. It was as though he couldn’t. There was something preying on his mind that prevented him from relaxing and enjoying this time together.

"There's something you're worried about, Songbird. Something you're not saying."

“Are you completely sure about this? About dating me as well as Geralt?”

“What’s brought this on?”

Jaskier was uncharacteristically silent for several long minutes before he spoke and, even then, it was reluctant. “I watched the two of you. When you came into Wanderlust and had lunch the other day. Now that you’re not hiding it, it was so apparent that you two had a history. There was a familiarity there. You anticipated each other’s moves and were so comfortable with each other. I guess it was just really clear that the two of you are meant to be together. It’s a little intimidating.”

“We might have a history together, but that doesn’t mean that we’re any better together than you and I. Or you and Geralt could be.” Eskel manhandled Jaskier so that he could look them in the eye, not caring about the bathwater that spilled over the floor. “Fuck, you’re perfect, Jaskier.”

Jaskier smiled and tried to duck his head, "you've said that before."

Eskel pressed kisses across Jaskier’s face, "and I’m going to keep saying it until you believe it. More than that, you’re perfect for us. Both of us. Geralt and myself. Trust in that."


	13. It's Not Fair How Much I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the relationship between Jaskier, Geralt and Eskel develops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a time skip in this. It isn't explicitly mentioned but it's there between their first date and the second section...

“We’re going on a date … did the demon goat really have to come?”

Geralt grumbled as they walked along the road, Lil’ Bleater happily gambolling along in front of them, oblivious to Geralt’s grousing.

Eskel grinned as Jaskier immediately started baby-talking Bleater, telling her that she wasn’t a demon goat, that she was beautiful and good and generally praising her.

“She’s not the hell spawn you think she is. Bleater’s a therapy goat, Geralt. The whole point of having her is that she’s always with me in case I need her.”

“Have you bought her a present yet?”

“She’s a goat.”

“And that means nothing. People buy presents for their pets all the time. I told you, she likes poetry.”

Eskel snorted, “Coën will have some suggestions if you want to ask him.”

“Why do I have the feeling that I’m missing something?” Geralt shifted the bag on his shoulder, trying to stop the strap from digging in. “Where are we going anyway, Jaskier?”

Neither he nor Eskel really knew what was going on, having simply received a message from Jaskier asking them to meet him at Wanderlust for lunch. Upon their arrival, they had both been handed heavy bags and unceremoniously pushed out of the door by Jaskier with the proclamation that they were going on a date.

Finally.

It had been two weeks or so since Jaskier’s date with Geralt and, even thought they had decided to try and make things work, life had got in the way. First, it had been life at Kaer Morhen. Lambert had decided, with Vesemir’s blessing and the grudging agreement of Geralt and Eskel, to take on someone who had the training to be able to give treatments like physiotherapy and sports massage in house. Given that Lambert, Eskel and Geralt were all now teaching classes at different times, it had meant whatever spare time they had was spent conducting interviews with potential candidates. No sooner had they decided to employ Gweld and bring him into the Kaer Morhen fold, university finals week was upon them.

That meant no Istredd or Sabrina so Jaskier was stuck running Wanderlust by himself. Geralt and Eskel tried to help but, after the third complaint of Geralt grunting at customers and his excessive use of profanities not to mention Cahir throwing a stack of cake pans at Eskel after his attempts at helping in the kitchen, they had accepted that they just might have to settle for biding their time.

Thank fuck for technology.

Unable to see each other for anything longer than to exchange pleasantries and quick kisses, they had to rely on their phones. They sent what seemed like hundreds of messages both in a group chat that Jaskier set up and in more private messages. Every night, Geralt and Eskel would phone Jaskier when he was back in his flat and getting ready for bed. They had tried going to Wanderlust and keeping him company while he did the prep for the following day as well as any necessary paperwork but had swiftly found that all they managed to do was distract him. So, every night, Jaskier fell asleep to the sound of Eskel and Geralt’s voices while, every morning, they woke to a voice message from him. It might not have been what they wanted, but it had tided them over to their date.

“Here.” Jaskier stopped and gestured around them. They were in a small park some fifteen minutes’ walk from Kaer Morhen and Wanderlust. It was enough off the beaten track that it wasn’t busy despite the good weather, with a reasonably sized pond and flower beds that Lil’ Bleater seemed inordinately interested in. “I thought we might have a picnic. You know, away from prying eyes in case it goes horribly wrong.”

Jaskier laughed at the end, slightly strained and brittle. At hearing it, Eskel tugged him into an embrace, Geralt placing his hand in the small of Jaskier’s back, crowding close.

“Think about all of the conversations we’ve had, Songbird. Why do you still think this is going to go wrong?”

Jaskier buried his face in Eskel’s chest, “just insecurities, I guess. I don’t do relationships, never did until Eskel and I want this – us – to work so much. And I mean, you have the history and you’re older than I am and just…”

“I think we’ve established that history doesn’t necessarily mean anything with us.” Geralt’s voice was gravelly but the trace of humour was unmistakeable.

“Songbird, if anyone should be insecure, it’s us not you. We’re older than you. We’re scarred and fucked up, but this is going to work. We promise you that.”

As he spoke, Eskel exchanged a glance with Geralt. He had told Geralt about Jaskier’s fears. How he felt that the two men were perfect for each other and that there wasn’t a place for Jaskier. If he was truthful, Geralt had thought Eskel was exaggerating and was honestly a little taken aback. Every interaction that they had had, Jaskier had seemed so confident and it was strange to see him acting exactly the opposite. It didn’t set well with Geralt and so he sought to distract Jaskier.

“Come on, I thought you promised us a picnic.” Geralt’s words roused Jaskier from his melancholy slump and he tugged them through the gates to what he considered an optimal spot.

Bleater automatically bounded over to the flower beds, chewing enthusiastically on the ones that caught her eye. Jaskier took the bags from Eskel and Geralt before proceeding to empty them. They watched on in amazement as Jaskier produced a blanket along with box after box of Tupperware filled with food as well as several full thermos’.

“So, I have your favourite coffee and your favourite cake. There are Cahir’s usual sandwiches and I’ve been experimenting with some tarts and quiches as well.”

It wasn’t hard to see that Jaskier was babbling out of sheer nerves.

If he was honest, Geralt had shared some of Jaskier’s fears, even with a successful date behind them. It had always been so easy with Eskel. Maybe too easy considering their almost disastrous communicative failure. He had also had the fear that Eskel would choose Jaskier over Geralt, given that Jaskier could offer everything that Geralt couldn’t; a relationship without too much judgement, someone who was willing to talk about his feelings. Now, as Jaskier relaxed, Geralt could see what Eskel had been able to for a while. What Lambert had seen in an eerie moment of prescience all those months ago.

Jaskier really was perfect for them. He filled in the gaps, smoothed the edges and complimented them perfectly. The realisation caused a need to surge in Geralt and he tugged Jaskier from his spot on the blanket into his lap, kissing him hungrily. Jaskier clearly had no objections as he waited for barely a second before responding with alacrity. When Geralt pulled back, Jaskier was panting and looking somewhat dazed.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

“I just realised something is all,” Geralt stroked his thumb over Jaskier’s bottom lip, noting that the pretty blue was almost obliterated, Jaskier’s pupils were blown so wide.

“And what might that be?”

“That Lambert was right, the prick. You really are fucking perfect for us.”

Heat along Geralt’s side alerted him to Eskel moving closer and he turned to have his lips caught automatically by Eskel’s. A quiet moan from his lap told him that Jaskier was enjoying the sight.

“Took you long enough, wolf. Just need our Songbird to catch up now.”

And then it was Geralt’s turn to enjoy the view as Eskel kissed Jaskier who squirmed happily in Geralt’s lap. Geralt waited for the pang of jealousy but it never came. It just felt right. As though Jaskier had been all that they needed to make this work. Eskel broke the kiss and settled Jaskier between them.

Where he belonged.

As dates went, it was exactly what they needed after two weeks not being able to spend longer than ten minutes in each other’s company. The conversation shared while they ate the food Jaskier was idle and had mostly been shared during their phone calls and messages, but none of them minded nor saw the need to point it out. When Jaskier had finished eating, he settled down and revelled in the compliments as Eskel and Geralt continued to demolish his baking as though they had bottomless pits instead of stomachs. He plucked a few stray daisies from the grass, humming a new melody under his breath as he twined them together into a miniature flower crown. Jaskier placed it on Bleater’s head when she came nosing for some of her biscuits to supplement her flowers. When she didn’t immediately toss it off, he quickly snapped a couple of photos and sent them to Ciri, Triss and Coën. As he tucked his phone away, inspiration struck and Jaskier tried a couple of lines with the melody he had been humming, only to yelp as an arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him back against two warm, solid bodies.

“Always singing, aren’t you, little lark?”

“Hmm?” Jaskier was still oblivious, lost in composing; Bleater deserved a song and he hadn’t written anything this week. He stopped thinking quite so much about that as he was pressed back onto the blanket, Geralt and Eskel either side of them looking as hungry for him as they had for the food earlier.

“How prettily will you sing for us? Hmm? Eskel’s Songbird, my lark.”

Oh, that was new. The nickname from Geralt. Jaskier liked that and he hummed happily as he was kissed first by Geralt and then Eskel. Jaskier was aware that they were in a public space but, honestly, he was being kissed by two ridiculously attractive men and that made him very much okay with a bit of exhibitionism.

Neither had it escaped Jaskier’s notice that he was very much the focus of both men’s attention. Whichever man had claimed his lips, the other was trailing kisses along Jaskier’s neck, leaving teasing nips and bites, sucking bruises into his throat, even pushing his shirt out of the way to gain access to his clavicle and upper chest.

It was dizzying and Jaskier could only lie there and succumb to the blissful sensations, only aware of who was who by the slightly rougher texture of Eskel’s lips where the scars bisected his lips. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Geralt’s mouth disappeared from where it had been worrying a livid passion mark just below Jaskier’s jawline.

“Eskel. Your fucking goat is eating my fucking hair.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but laugh against Eskel’s lips and he could feel Eskel’s chest shaking at Geralt’s outburst. It broke the mood but Jaskier felt more settled as they packed up to start the journey back. He needed to stop overthinking things.

This was going to work.

~*~

“Imagine my surprise when I walked past a public park the other day and saw that you’ve managed to pull your head out of your arse when it comes to romantic relationships.”

“I’m amazed you walked anywhere, I thought you used a broomstick or conjured a portal."

“Touché.”

“Yennefer.”

“Geralt.”

Geralt took a sip of his coffee and glanced sideways out the corner of his eye at his former lover. Yennefer was still as beautiful as ever, yet he felt nothing for her but fondness as someone he had once been close to and as someone who had done a lot for his daughter.

“You’re not often seen outside of Aretuza. “His eyes widened as he saw the items in front of her. “Even more surprising is you eating that. I thought you only dined on the blood of your enemies.”

Yennefer’s lips twitched in amusement. “Yes, well, the puppy’s creations are surprisingly edible and Triss assures me that I need variation in my diet now and then. The puppy is also occasionally witty now that he’s not pining after you and your other half.”

“The puppy is…”

“Jaskier.”

“And my other …”

“Eskel.”

“Does everyone know about us?”

“Everyone with eyes.” Yennefer smirked as she crossed her legs and took a sip of coffee, drawing admiring glances and a few sighs from at least five other occupants of Wanderlust. “Subtlety has never been your forte, Geralt.”

“How long have you known? About Eskel and I?”

“I’ve had my suspicions since we got together. It didn’t take very long for me to realise that I came behind both Ciri _and_ Eskel on your list of priorities.”

“It was never that bad.”

“Geralt, cancelled plans and abandoned dates aside, you once stopped mid-thrust while I was ridiing you to respond to a text from him.”

“I never…” Geralt subsided as Yennefer arched an eyebrow at him, “I might have done that. Why did you never say anything?”

“As I said to Jaskier, you can barely verbalise your coffee order … your sexuality and your feelings for Eskel were never going to come up. Besides, fond of you as I am, I was never with you for the scintillating conversation.”

Yennefer cackled as Geralt blushed furiously. “Geralt, fucking you was some of the best sex I have ever had, but that was all it was. Insanely good sex. If we had stayed together, we would have made each other miserable and one or both of us would have ended up arrested. We are far better off now, in relationships with people we love, as friends where I can corrupt your daughter and torment you to my heart’s content.”

Geralt’s reaction drew the attention of Jaskier, who wandered over and kissed Geralt on the corner of his mouth.

“Do I want to know what you’ve said, Yenna?”

“Probably not but, while you’re here tell me … has he done that thing with his tongue and fingers that,” Yennefer made a crude gesture that had Geralt sputtering again and Jaskier flushing pink.

“I taught him that as a matter of fact, so yes.”

Yennefer saluted Eskel with her coffee cup for his comment, kissing Geralt on the cheek and leaving a smear of lipstick behind. “I’m happy for you, Geralt. It’s taken you long enough to get here; don’t fuck it up.”

~*~

“What’s all this, Songbird? We thought we were coming over to you when we’d washed up?” Eskel questioned as he and Geralt exited Kaer Morhen to find Ciri and Jaskier walking over from Wanderlust loaded up under bags and pots and pans. Geralt simply kissed his daughter on the top of her head and relieved her of her burden.

“Change of plans.” Jaskier waited until Ciri had darted ahead of them before he spoke. “Ciri said something today and she didn’t mean anything by it, but the three of us have been spending too much time at Wanderlust and not enough time with her. So, change of venue. Dinner and movies casa Kaer Morhen. She lit up like a Roman candle when I suggested it.”

Jaskier winced as both Geralt and Eskel looked worried and guilty as they looked after Ciri, hurrying to try and explain himself. “I didn’t say it to make you feel guilty, just to let you know that we need to change things slightly. It’s not really that different to what we planned, we’ll just have dinner and watch movies with Ciri, Lambert and Vesemir as well.”

Jaskier huffed and puffed at the state of their kitchen, grumbling that it was a good job he had brought his own things and, honestly, how had Geralt, Eskel and Lambert grown up looking like a brick outhouse when they had been raised somewhere that only had one saucepan. Vesemir looked as though he was going to object, but a beer swiftly slid in front of him not to mention the mouth-watering smells soon emanating from the stove had him changing his tune.

"I feel guilty you’re cooking for us, lad. Especially when you've spent most of your day cooking and these four are bottomless pits."

Jaskier turned to flash a smile at Vesemir. "That's work at Wanderlust. This is for pleasure. I like cooking for people, it's…" Jaskier paused to try and find the right words. "It's like my love language."

Vesemir mouthed the words ‘love language’ as Jaskier turned back to the stove and decided to focus on his beer.

"Who taught you how to cook, lark? Was it one of your parents?" 

Geralt was oblivious to the way that Ciri was shaking her head and making gestures at him to stop talking. However, neither he nor Eskel missed the tension in Jaskier’s voice or his back as he replied.

“My parents would never lower themselves to doing something so menial. The kitchen staff taught me to keep me quiet and out of trouble.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at Eskel but received a shake of the head in return. Jaskier might know pretty much all there was to know about the occupants of Kaer Morhen, but he had volunteered almost nothing about his own family, always dodging the subject. Eskel had heard about Essi and a handful of university friends but that was it. There was never any mention of Jaskier’s family.

Ciri immediately – and with very little subtlety – changed the subject with Lambert not far behind. Geralt and Eskel were still a little too caught up in Jaskier’s revelation that Ciri had felt abandoned by them. Abandoned was perhaps too strong a word but it fit. Ciri had not been their priority in recent times; that had been on their relationship with Jaskier. Ciri seemed to have taken to everything so well, had accepted the relationship between Eskel and Geralt with ease, not to mention the triad between them and Jaskier that, in some ways, it had been easy for them to forget her. While they had had countless dates since that first picnic, Ciri had fallen somewhat by the wayside.

Everything else fell by the wayside as they tasted Jaskier’s cooking when it was ready. It wasn’t necessarily anything fancy, but it was well cooked, and it had flavour; two things that were normally lacking in Kaer Morhen’s kitchen. Jaskier watched in pure delight as his food disappeared in record time, amid grunts of pleasure and approval, Ciri little better than the men who had raised her. When they finished eating, he wasn’t allowed to help clean away the mess; rules of Kaer Morhen. Instead, he was ushered away to the tv and instructed to pick something to watch.

Somewhat clueless, Jaskier surrendered his choice to Ciri, reasonably confident in the fact that she would pick something that wasn’t completely terrible. What he wasn’t expecting was for her to select Lord of the Rings. It was a popular choice though judging by the reaction from the others as they came in. They hadn't spent any time here so Jaskier wasn't sure where he was supposed to sit. It quickly became apparent that was unnecessary. The armchair was Vesemir’s, while Lambert sprawled over the floor like an overgrown puppy. Ciri settled herself on the floor in front of the couch and made grabby hands for Lil' Bleater, fussing over her when Eskel handed her over. Jaskier squeaked slightly as Geralt picked him up and then settled him in his lap as Geralt took Jaskier’s previous seat on the couch. Geralt was still more likely to show his feelings physically rather than with words, but Jaskier was gradually becoming okay with that. As Yennefer had said, Jaskier spoke enough for two people and Eskel was a fully qualified translator in Geralt. What he wasn’t okay with was how easily both of his lovers - who were the same height as him - could so easily manhandle him. Well, outside of sex. Then, they could manhandle him all they wanted because Melitele, that was just hot. And then Eskel was swinging Jaskier’s legs over his own so that he could get at Ciri's hair following her demand for braids, just as the opening words of the film echoed from the TV.

They had had countless dates since that first picnic – dinners out, nights in, individual dates, group dates – but it was this, sat on the couch with both of his lovers beneath him, Ciri, Lambert and even Vesemir there with them, that brought it home. He never wanted it to end.

Realisation washed over him like waves crashing onto the shore.

Jaskier had known that he was in love with Eskel, had done from early on. Equally, he had known that he was in lust with Geralt from that first moment. Now, he realised that lust had morphed into something else without him realising. He loved them both. Equally. Jaskier stretched, placing a kiss on one cheek then another.

"Songbird?"

"Lark?"

The question came simultaneously and Jaskier smiled softly, "nothing. Just felt like it."

He wanted this – he wanted them – forever. He just had to let them know that. For now, he would simply enjoy this.

As the film finished, Jaskier started making noises about how he should make a move and go back to Wanderlust. He had barely got five words out before Ciri protested. This was why she was his favourite.

“No! Don’t be silly. Why would you go back to Wanderlust by yourself when you can stay here? You cooked tonight; Grandpa can cook breakfast in the morning.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose myself, Ciri.”

“You’re not imposing! Is he? Papa? Uncle Eskel?”

“We’d love you to stay, Songbird,” Eskel spoke while Geralt just grunted his agreement.

“Vesemir?”

“Another mouth to feed won’t make a difference around this lot. If you wake me up with your shenanigans in the night, it’ll be a different matter.”

“Yes, sir.”

Vesemir disappeared out the door, grumbling under his breath, and they could hear him thumping up the stairs above the sound of the closing credits starting. Lambert wasn’t far behind him, muttering something about having early clients but he had spent the last third of the film on his phone and, given the way that he was blushing, they all knew that he was going to talk to Aiden rather than have an early night. Geralt and Eskel let him know that as well with a few ribald comments with even Ciri joining in with the teasing with some wolf whistles. When the screen faded to black, Geralt ruffled Ciri’s hair, earning a protest from Eskel.

“Time for bed, cub.”

“Can I talk to Dara first?”

Not for the first time, Jaskier watched Geralt cave in like a chocolate teapot the second that Ciri widened her eyes at him.

“Twenty minutes. Then sleep.”

“You’d better not be too loud then.” Ciri skipped out of range of Geralt’s half-hearted swat, “Uncle Eskel? Can Bleater come to bed with me?”

“You’re going to spoil her.”

“ _I’m_ going to spoil her?” Ciri’s tone was pretty scathing as she looked around the room. At the three different pet beds in this room alone never mind the multitude and variety of toys scattered all over the floor. This room was merely the tip of the iceberg; Bleater had toys, beds and blankets all over the house not to mention Kaer Morhen and Wanderlust. She may have been brought into Eskel’s life as a therapy pet, but there was no doubt that she was treated like a queen.

“You let her sleep in your bed!”

Jaskier’s laughter was buried in Geralt’s chest and Geralt himself was rolling his eyes at Eskel’s weak efforts at defence.

“Eskel, just accept that she’s a spoilt little diva. Ciri, bed. Take Bleater with you.”

Ciri did as she was told, kissing Geralt and Eskel on the cheek before moving onto Jaskier. “I’m so happy you’re here, Jas.”

Jaskier hugged her back and pressed a kiss to the start of the braid that Eskel had done. “I’m happy to be here, sweetheart.”

  
“We’re also happy you’re here, lark.” Geralt’s voice rumbled in Jaskier’s ear, doing things to him.

Eskel was no better, nipping at Jaskier’s neck and jaw. “Let us show you how happy, Songbird.”

(~*~)

Jaskier gasped as he was pressed back against a door, having made his way upstairs sandwiched between two amorous former Marines. “I thought Vesemir said no shenanigans?”

“He said that he didn’t want to be disturbed. There’s a difference. So, you’d better be quiet, hadn’t you lark?”

That wasn’t fair as far as Jaskier was concerned. Had Geralt hit his head without them realising it? Two incredibly attractive lovers and he was supposed to remain quiet? Jaskier?! Impossible! Still, it was a challenge that he would accept and attempt to conquer.

He failed. Epically.

It simply wasn’t possible to remain silent. Not when he had both Geralt and Eskel plastered on either side of him, barely a centimetre between them. Not when the two of them seemed dead set on spiralling his lust ever higher. Even so, Jaskier gave as good as he got, biting his lip to try and hold back his moans as he scrabbled at their clothing. Geralt and Eskel were having none of it though. They took control of his hands, forcing him to stop attempting to undress them. They then proceeded to torment him, to tease him, stripping him of his clothing far too slowly for his liking.

Each item of clothing removed meant hands ghosting over his skin. Brushing over spots that they had previously recognised as sensitive. Hands sending shivers down his spine as they ratcheted up the anticipation as to what was going to happen. What they had all been waiting for.

This was far from being the first time that they had been together, but it was the first time that they had got this far. There had been blow jobs, hand jobs, frottage and plenty of kissing but they hadn’t quite gone as far as penetrative sex. It wasn’t as though there had been a conversation and they had decided to wait, it had been more of an unspoken thing. Now, though? It felt right. Jaskier couldn’t help the squeak that escaped him as Eskel’s hands cupped his arse, encouraging him to hop up, wrapping his legs around Eskel’s waist as he was transported to the bed and gently dropped upon it.

Once on the bed, Jaskier scrambled backwards towards the headboard, feeling very much like prey. As though he was being stalked by two lethal, predatory creatures. Something that wasn’t helped by the fact that, once they were naked, Eskel and Geralt crawled up the bed until they were stretched out either side of Jaskier.

Jaskier could do little else but clutch at the bedsheets and the bodies that hovered over him, whispering his love to them as they worshipped his body. Whispering their own love to him. As they trailed kisses over his body. Jaskier desperately wanted to reciprocate but, any time, he tried they wouldn’t let him, pressing his hands back to the mattress. They seemed determined to drive him out of his mind with pleasure, plucking at his nipples, leaving teasing nips over his thighs and ribs, tongues tracing his hipbones and sucking bruises into his throat. Yet, even with that as their goal, he could still determine which set of lips were on him and, when fingers spread him wide, who they belonged to. Eskel’s lips were that bit rougher thanks to his scars and, while both men had calloused fingers from years of handling weapons, Geralt’s were longer while Eskel’s were thicker. It was Geralt who slid into him first.

Jaskier couldn’t help but moan, the sound resonating for a second before someone – he thought it was Geralt – muffled the sound with their mouth. Geralt’s cock reached deep inside him, deeper than any other lover he had ever had. Even more so than Eskel. Geralt immediately set a punishing pace, plucking at Jaskier’s nipples and spiralling him ever closer to his release, Eskel not helping the situation by whispering increasingly filthy things in Jaskier’s ear. Jaskier could do little more than wrap his arms around Geralt’s neck and hang on for dear life, waiting for that moment.

It didn’t take him long to reach it. 

“I love you.”

If anything, Geralt’s eyes glowed even more golden than usual as he not only responded. but reached his orgasm almost simultaneously. “I love you, too.”

Really, it was unfair how attractive the man looked with his ‘O’ face. Within the space of a heartbeat, Eskel had taken his place.

Jaskier was already on the verge of being a fucked out mess when Eskel slid into him. Eskel wasn’t as long as Geralt but he was thicker and Jaskier felt the difference. His cock was straining against his belly, so close to orgasm, and every single inch of his skin felt over-sensitised. Eskel was aware of that and he tempered his movements accordingly. Every single thrust was slow, languorous, intended to brush across Jaskier’s prostate with each movement. Jaskier was aware of Geralt and Eskel trading off between kissing him and kissing each other, but then Geralt’s hand was sliding down to wrap around his cock and that was it. His mind went blank. Little more than white noise. Jaskier was so close to the edge that it took barely more than a handful of strokes from Geralt’s hand and he was peaking, clenching around Eskel’s cock as he shuddered through his orgasm. That – and watching Geralt fuck Jaskier – was enough to tip Eskel over the edge and he grunted through his own release, dotting Jaskier’s face with kisses.

In the aftermath of his orgasm, Jaskier was little more than a limp body. He let himself be manhandled, watching appreciatively through half-lidded eyes as Geralt wandered off to pick up a discarded shirt, using it to give the three of them a cursory clean. He then let them prod and poke him into a position that they were satisfied. Namely, Eskel curled around Jaskier and Geralt curled around both of them, one long arm slung around both bodies, holding them close.

This was what Jaskier wanted. Both of them. Filling him completely. Almost to the point of too much. The only thing that could possibly make it – the sex – better was if he could feel them without condoms. He wanted skin on skin. This was it for him, without question.

Geralt and Eskel.

Loving him.

Jaskier wanted everything.

Geralt and Eskel gave it to him.

There was no way that he was giving them up. Ever.

~*~

“Are we that sappy?”

Jaskier posited the question as he watched Lambert and Aiden where they sat at Lambert’s usual table in Wanderlust, Aiden holding Lambert’s hand and apparently in the process of trying to hand feed Lambert the cake in front of him. Just as he had told Lamber the night of their first date – and Lambert had later divulged to his family - Aiden appeared to be dead set on his attempt to woo Lambert and treat him as he should be treated, even going to the extent of turning down the summer digs that he would usually participate in. Lambert still looked utterly bewildered 90% of the time, but he was starting to get more used to it. To everyone’s amusement, he was still a human disaster in front of Aiden, but it didn’t make the professor’s opinion of him change.

Jaskier’s question earned him a snort of disbelief from Ciri where she sat doing her homework, Geralt leaning over her shoulder every now and then to point out her few mistakes. "Are you that sappy?"

"What? It's a genuine question!"

Ciri gave a pointed look at the way that they were sat. Jaskier was so close to Eskel that he was all but sat in his lap, Eskel's arm around his waist and laying claim to Geralt's hand. Their legs were all tangled together under the table and, while she couldn't see Eskel's free arm, she had no doubt that it was touching her Papa’s back.

"You're not as bad as them, you're worse."

"Lies and slander!" Jaskier protested dramatically and nearly toppled over not just himself but the table as well.

"What? I love you but it's true. Uncle Lambert and Aiden are sappy, but you three are sappier. At least you have been for the last few weeks."

They could all pinpoint the exact moment three weeks ago when things had changed and smiled at the memory.

“See! You’re doing it again! You went all lovey-dovey. Yen would say you’re making her sick.”

“Sorry, Ciri. How ever can we make it up to you?”

“Cake. All the cake. And don’t tell Uncle Lambert I said that, otherwise we’ll never hear the end of it. He’ll turn it into a competition.”

“Our lips are sealed.”

Geralt nodded gravely, “can you imagine how competitive Jaskier would get? We want to avoid that at all costs.” He ducked as Jaskier squawked and swatted at him.

“Who said anything about it being Jaskier getting competitive? I was thinking of you and Uncle Eskel…”

It was Ciri’s turn to duck.

~*~

As far as Jaskier was concerned, the fact that he was now dating both Eskel _and_ Geralt made his trips to Kaer Morhen so much more bearable. Before, he had had to resort to awkwardly shuffling back to Wanderlust trying to hide his hard-on or wanking in the toilets at Kaer Morhen, biting his fist in an attempt to remain quiet. Now, he no longer had to do that. Now, he had the right to drag either of his lovers off whenever he felt like it and he employed that right frequently.

On this particular occasion, it was after Eskel’s boxing class.

Geralt’s yoga classes were excruciating in their sexual tension and seeing Geralt bend in all of those poses, but Eskel’s boxing classes were something else entirely. Eskel seemed to have taken Geralt on as a permanent assistant and, in the process, decided to torment Jaskier. Really, it was completely unfair to have the two of them grappling in front of him wearing nothing more than Kaer Morhen tank tops and clinging sweatpants. Honestly, he could make so much money if he broadcast this. Yet, Jaskier was possessive and the sight of his wolves together like this was one that belonged in Kaer Morhen.

Ciri had abandoned accompanying him after that first time she had brought him to watch Eskel’s boxing class. She had stated that she loved him very much and that she had absolutely no problems with what was going on between him, her papa and her uncle but she absolutely did not need to see him perving over them. Jaskier had told her that he understood but that it was all her fault because she had been the one to bring him to watch Eskel boxing in the first place.

He wasn’t sure what, but something drew his attention back to the mats.

There were a dozen, maybe fifteen students there but Jaskier’s attention was completely focused on the two men in the centre of it. Jaskier watched as Eskel and Geralt grappled with each other, using the way that they were familiar with each other to bring the other to the mat. He shifted in arousal as he watched, grateful for the large hoody that he was wearing and its ability to hide certain things. It was Geralt’s today. Stolen when the other man had been enraptured with his cake earlier that morning. Jaskier tugged it down to hide his erection, as he watched Eskel spin and swipe, bringing Geralt down to the floor with a thud, hovering over him. Jaskier whined quietly; a mere inch closer and Eskel would be able to kiss Geralt, a sight that Jaskier could never get sick of.

As the class ended, Jaskier managed to stay still enough for all of the students to leave the area. When only himself, Geralt and Eskel remained, he seized his opportunity, tugging them out of the boxing gym and towards one of the many store cupboards. Neither man objected. The second that they were inside, Jaskier was all over them; tugging at tank tops and pushing sweatpants down thighs that could have been chiselled out of marble. It didn’t take them long to catch on to what he wanted, stripping Jaskier of his own clothes until he was naked between them.

Geralt and Eskel wasted no time, wrapping themselves around Jaskier, hands roaming his body as he feasted in their touch. In their sweaty bodies pressed against his. Jaskier squirmed happily as he was sandwiched between his two wolves, kissing Eskel first then Geralt before hearing the sounds of the two of them kissing each other as he occupied himself raking a hand through Eskel’s chest hair while the other reached back to grip Geralt’s thigh. Jaskier’s head slumped forward onto Eskel’s shoulder as Geralt’s hand wrapped around his cock, even as he continued kissing Eskel.

Light spilled over them and Geralt and Eskel broke apart as the door opened, followed by the voice of Kaer Morhen’s newest employee.

“Oh! Shit! Fuck! I’m sorry … I, umm, didn’t realise that anyone was in here.”

“Maybe shut the door if you don’t want a show, Gweld…”

“Yeah, um, sure.”

The door slammed shut and, seconds later, outside the door they could hear Lambert questioning Gweld.

“Gweld, are you okay? You’re looking a little bit queasy … and are you blushing?”

“What? Oh, yes! Yes, of course I’m fine.”

There was a pause, and it was almost as though they could hear the pieces clicking into place in Lambert’s head. “You sure? You didn’t see something that you weren’t expecting to see? Maybe in the storage cupboard?”

“Oh, umm, well…”

“I knew it. I hate them, fucking hate all three of them.”

The next thing that they heard was a loud hammering on the door and Lambert’s voice grousing at them. “For fuck’s sake, you three. We’re trying to run a business here; can you at least get home or to Wanderlust before you feel the need to fuck? This is nearly as bad as the mess hall.”

Jaskier giggled as he buried his face in Eskel’s neck, only for his breath to hitch as Geralt ground against him from behind which, in turn, pushed Jaskier into Eskel. Geralt called out loudly enough to hide Jaskier’s sounds and also be heard through the door.

“Like you can talk, Lambchop. Or how would you describe how I caught you and Aiden the other week?”

There was a long silence where Geralt slowly started to stroke his hand up and down Jaskier’s cock again, while Eskel plucked at his nipples, swallowing his moans all the while he writhed between them. Finally, Lambert’s voice drifted through the door one final time.

“Bastards. Just … make sure you disinfect the floor and any equipment when you’re done. I’m not cleaning up your come.”

The only response that Lambert received was a choked moan as Jaskier spilled himself over Geralt’s fist followed minutes later by dual grunts as both Geralt and Eskel stroked themselves to completion, covering Jaskier in their come.

~*~

“Are you ready for this?”

Geralt looked over his shoulder at Eskel. “This isn’t the first open mic night I’ve been to at Wanderlust, you know.”

“Maybe not, but it’s the first one since you, Jaskier and I started our relationship.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Geralt fussed with what he was wearing. Maybe it was time to broaden his wardrobe choices; it seemed to be overwhelmingly full of blue and grey tank tops and he had pretty much exhausted the clothes he did have which were suitable for dates. He might actually have to go shopping. He blinked as Eskel threw a shirt at his head, just as he was about to lift a shirt to see if it passed the smell test.

“You just wait.”

Eskel was right. Of course he was, because he was Eskel. Geralt hadn’t really been paying too much attention last time, had been distracted by all of the revelations and having to think about how he felt. Tonight was slightly different, other than it being the first since they had formalised their triad. It was the first event that was licensed with both Jaskier and Istredd having completed all the courses and gained the certification. The owner of Feleaorns, the local brewery – a guy that had an utterly ridiculous name that couldn’t be real – had come forward and tonight was a trial run stocking their products. Judging by the buzz in the place, it was going to be a success. He frowned as he saw Yennefer pass Ciri a can of cider, clearly not wasting any time with her promise to corrupt his daughter.

Jaskier was in his element, swanning around behind the counter serving customers and chatting to everyone. He spared kisses for Eskel and Geralt with a hug for Ciri but that was it. Instead, he shooed them off to their preferred table with their cakes and beers from the brewery. Eskel was engrossed in conversation with Gweld who had been persuaded to come along, so Geralt focused single-mindedly on his cake. So much so that the voice next to him came as something of a surprise.

“I hear you’re in the market for some poetry?”

“Huh?” Geralt turned to see Coën sat next to him. He hadn’t really had much to do with the bookseller, but knew that both Eskel and Jaskier considered him to be a friend.

“Poetry? For Bleater?” Coën handed over a slim volume that Geralt accepted, “this one seems to be her favourite.”

“I don’t understa…” Anything else Geralt was going to say faded into nothing as Lil’ Bleater climbed into his lap for the first time voluntarily, baa-ing happily as she started to chew on the book. “So much makes sense now.”

Bleater stayed in his lap happily munching away at the book until the event started properly and Jaskier came to sit down next to him. Geralt didn’t really pay much attention to the other performers, instead focusing on the reactions of his family around him. He only directed his focus to the stage area when Jaskier stood to take his turn, last as usual.

“One of these days, I’m going to persuade someone else to take the final slot.” Jaskier sat down at the piano, fiddling with the stool height. “As usual, this is an original number. I’m sure you can guess who it’s written for.”

_It's what my heart just yearns to say  
In ways that can't be said  
It's what my rotting bones will sing  
When the rest of me is dead  
It's what's engraved upon my heart  
In letters deeply worn  
Today, I somehow understand the reason I was born_

_'Cause outwardly he says, "I try so hard to make you laugh at me"  
And he, he does, he laughs  
As though he’s not heard the joke ten thousand times before  
And he adores him  
He watches him get dressed as though he's hurtling through time  
Oh, darling, please be mine_

Geralt and Eskel recognised it immediately. This was the song that Jaskier had been working on, driving them crazy for the last few weeks. They hadn’t heard the whole thing, but they had known that he was working on it, had heard snatches of melody, random lines of lyrics and it had stuck in their heads. Here it was, complete.

_He promises to fight them all when it all becomes too much  
And he, he curses at the world  
For leaving him behind, and he's falling out of touch  
And he is stronger than he's ever been, he knows  
He brushes his hand through his hair  
He's got so much fucking hair_

_And he holds him close, just to keep the world at bay  
And when they're sure no one can hear them  
He'll turn to him to say, he'll turn to him and say_

_"_ _It's not fair, it's not fair how much I love you  
It's not fair, 'cause you make me laugh  
When I'm actually really fucking cross at you for something"  
And he'll say  
"Oh, how, oh, how unreasonable  
How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do  
I'll spend my days so close to you  
'Cause if I'm standing here, maybe everyone will think I'm alright"_

“Do you think he’ll ever not sing about us?” Geralt whispered to Eskel, giving his daughter an unrepentant shrug when Ciri shot him a glare.

“Do you want him to stop?” Eskel spoke out of the corner of his mouth, eyes not moving from Jaskier one fraction of an inch.

Geralt cast his own eyes back to where Jaskier was seated at the piano, performing his heart out. Before this, before Jaskier, Geralt would have said that there was no way he would have wanted someone writing songs about him, never mind performing them. Now, he marvelled at the fact that someone this talented felt enough for he and Eskel that he would write songs about them.

“Not even a little bit.”

_"I've seen enough, " he says, "I know exactly what I want"  
And it's this life that we've created  
Inundated with the fated thought of you  
And if you asked me to, if you asked me, I would lose it all  
Like petals in a storm_

_'Cause, darling, I was born to press my head  
Between your shoulder blades at night when light is fading  
Just to let you know, I'm old, waylaid and feels like I am wading  
Into carpet burns and carousels  
Christ, you'll be the death of me_

_And calm throughout his melodrama  
He will turn and say, "Dear heart, it's me, its me  
You don't need to pretend to be someone you're not  
'Cause it's not like I've never heard you fart and snore  
And for some godforsaken reason  
I'm still here, love, like I've always been before_

_And he'll say_

_"It's not fair, it's not fair how much I love you"  
It's not fair, 'cause you make me weep  
When I'm just trying to watch The Office with my yoghurt"  
And he'll say  
"Oh, how, oh, how unreasonable  
How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do_

What wasn’t fair was how fucking sexy Jaskier was when he was performing. Well, to be fair, Jaskier was gorgeous all of the time but performing? It was as though he was someone else. Well, not completely. Just Jaskier enhanced. It was doing things to Geralt. Checking that Ciri was completely engrossed in the performance, Geralt leaned over to whisper in Eskel’s ear.

“Is it wrong that I want to do despicable things to him on that piano?”

Eskel’s response was not what he expected.

“It’s not as sacred as you might think…”

“Oh?”

Leaning over, Eskel risked the wrath of his niece to lean over and whisper just how unsacred the piano was. Geralt’s eyebrows rose as he listened, and he couldn’t help but think about the things that he wanted to do to Jaskier over that piano. So many things. As though Eskel knew the direction that his thoughts had drifted in, his hand slid up Geralt’s thigh to cup his crotch, hidden by the table.

Oh yeah, unreasonably in love – and lust – just about covered it.

_  
I'll spend my days so close to you  
'Cause if I'm standing here, maybe everyone will think I'm cool"_

_"How unfair, how unfair, " they'll sing  
As they dance across the darling rooftop wreck  
He'll trip, and he'll pretend not to have seen  
Burying his head into his chest  
And clinging to the moment, "Where have you been?"_

  
_He'll whisper, "I've waited, oh, so long for you to come"  
And as the stars above them hum and hear them  
He'll turn to him and say, "That's what he said"_

_"It's not fair, oh, it's not fair how much I love you  
It's not fair, 'cause you make me ache, you bastard"  
And he'll say_

  
_“Oh, how, oh, how unreasonable  
How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do  
I'll spend my days so close to you  
'Cause if I'm stood here, then I'm stood here  
And I'll stand here  
I'll stand here with you"_

Unsurprisingly, resounding applause burst out as soon as the song finished and Geralt and Eskel were on their feet with everyone else. It seemed as though everyone wanted to speak to Jaskier but he eventually made his way over to them, all pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. Not kissing him was not an option.

“Geralt? Your review, please. Three words.”

“Fucking hell, lark.”

Jaskier looked inordinately pleased with himself. “I’ll take that.”

As he was swept off to take care of the last bits of the evening and to talk to a few people, an arm wrapped around Geralt’s waist and he leaned back into Eskel’s chest.

“Those despicable things you wanted to do to our Songbird … we’re doing them tonight, aren’t we?”

“As soon as everyone has gone.”

(~*~)

It took far too long for Geralt and Eskel’s liking for Wanderlust to empty of people. In the end, they resorted to shoving the last few people out of the door, ignoring Lambert’s increasingly crude comments and Yennefer’s barbed remarks. As they ensured that the blinds were drawn and no-one outside could see in, Jaskier drifted back to the piano and started playing. The piece was instantly recognisable to both Eskel and Geralt. It was the same piece that Jaskier had sung in the video that Lambert had sent them. The first video they had ever seen of Jaskier. It was different on the piano rather than the strange guitar-like instrument he had played then but no less effective.

Eskel and Geralt exchanged glances before moving as effectively as they had in the Marines.

Jaskier didn’t know what had hit him. One minute, he was sat on the piano stool. The next, the stool had been knocked from under him and he was seated on the piano keys, the most horrific dissonant cluster chord emanating from them.

“Oh! Hello! What’s, umm…”

The only answer Jaskier received was Geralt pulling his trousers to his ankles as Eskel and Geralt sank to their knees in front of him, “well, this is unexpected.”

It was not merely unexpected. It was one of the hottest things that Jaskier had ever seen. And he had seen his lovers fuck each other. His cock may have been soft to begin with, but it did not stay so for long. How could it?

Geralt and Eskel didn’t hold back, licking and sucking on his cock. Feasting like they had been starving for days. It was all Jaskier could do to not fuck their faces. Instead, he clung to the piano and tangled his fingers in hair that grew longer by the day. For their part, Eskel and Geralt tried everything they could to break Jaskier’s restraint. They encouraged him to fuck their mouths, alternating between who swallowed him down. They teased and tormented, hands rising to pluck at his nipples and grip at his hipbones as they engulfed him in twin heat. It was only when Eskel reached up to stroke calloused fingers over Jaskier’s hole that he came, spilling himself down someone’s throat – he wasn’t sure who – with a guttural cry.

“Cahir is going to be so pissed in the morning. This is going to be nothing compared to the kitchen incident.” Jaskier was pleasure-drunk enough that the words were slurred but still just audible.

“If you still care about what Cahir thinks, we haven’t done this well enough.”

“Then you’d better take me to bed, hadn’t you?”

“With pleasure, lark. With pleasure.”


	14. Hold Me Close and Don't Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a lot of bonding between the inhabitants of Kaer Morhen, Essi lets a secret slip and Geralt and Eskel surprise Jaskier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read chapter 13, I've rewritten some of it ... none of the plot has changed but you may want to go back and re-read before you read this!
> 
> I'm sorry that this has taken a couple of weeks to update - I've been struggling to write over the last couple of weeks (combination of new lockdown and being back at work) but I have added another 2 chapters as a consolation!

“Papa! Uncle Eskel!” Ciri flew through the door of the office without knocking, utterly oblivious to what she might – or might not – be disturbing.

“Ciri!” Both men jumped apart at her entrance, trying to make it look as though they had been doing something other than kissing. She wasn’t fooled. If they had been working, why was her dad sat on the desk, her Uncle Eskel between his legs? Why did they look guilty?

“Ever hear of knocking, cub?”

“Ever hear of keeping it in your pants?” Ciri grinned despite her retort. Truthfully, she couldn’t be happier that they had sorted things out between them, and it wasn’t as though she hadn’t got used to seeing them – and Jaskier – kiss in the last few months. And more when they had forgotten where they were. She loved all three of them dearly, but really, there was a limit to how much she wanted to see of her papa, her uncle and her boss. Unfortunately for her, they weren’t particularly good at stopping themselves from getting carried away.

“Is there a reason you burst in here, cub? I thought you were going to Wanderlust to practice with Jask?”

“I was. I am. I need to talk to you first, it’s important.”

“Okay. Talk about what?”

“We need to wait for Uncle Lambert.”

“I’m here.” A very rumpled Lambert wandered into the office, followed by an equally rumpled Aiden. “Were you raised in a barn, Ciri? Knocking is a thing, you know.”

“I was raised by you lot; slightly worse than a barn. Knocking might be a thing but so are locks on the doors … I might have to talk to Grandpa. I don’t want to have to bleach my brain.”

“As amusing as this could turn out to be, Ciri? I believe you have something to tell us?”

“Yes.” Ciri shot a grateful look at Aiden, “so I had a DM from Essi on Instagram and …”

“What’s a DM and who’s Essi?”

“Papa!” Ciri rolled her eyes at Geralt. “DM is a direct message and Essi is Jas’ best friend.”

Geralt shot a glance at Eskel who nodded, confirming Ciri’s words. “That may be true, but why is she messaging you? How can she message you? Who else can message you?”

As always, Eskel was the voice of reason.

“Calm down, mama wolf. We’ll have the social media conversation at some point that isn’t now. Even if anything were to happen, this is Ciri. We’ve taught the cub well; she’s more than capable of kicking someone in the balls or punching them in the face if they behave inappropriately towards her.”

Ciri giggled at her Uncle Eskel’s response, especially as it didn’t seem to change the sour look on her papa’s face, “it’s not as bad as you think, Papa. I promise. Anyway, Essi was messaging me because it’s Jas’ birthday in ten day’s time!”

Ciri’s words provoked the havoc that she had predicted, and she watched as the men in front of her panicked. Even Aiden, the one that she had assumed would remain cool and collected, was fretting. Uncle Lambert looked very much like a kicked puppy at the prospect that Jaskier hadn’t told him, while her Papa and Uncle Eskel were arguing about whether the other had known and kept it a secret. When they showed no sign of calming down, she stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly, ensuring silence after a minute.

“It seems that Jas kept this secret from all of us. Given that most of you have work to do and I have practice, I suggest that we reconvene tonight and come up with a plan over dinner. Agreed?”

It was Lambert who spoke. “Agreed. Fuck, cub, you sound more and more like your grandmother when you do that. Not sure how I feel about it.”

“That’s your problem, not mine.”

“And I’m going to be another problem of yours in a minute.” Vesemir’s voice came from the door. “What the fuck are you all doing in here? Having a Mother’s Union meeting? Lambert, your client’s waiting. Geralt, you have a class in 5minutes and Eskel, Gweld is waiting for you to do your therapy.”

“But…”

“What about…”

“Dad!”

“All of you, get! You can discuss the bard’s birthday tonight. When you’ve finished your work.”

(~*~)

Ciri’s practice had been less than successful.

Mostly because she was thinking about Essi’s message. Jaskier had obviously noticed her distraction while she had been practising but had been kind enough not to comment on it. There were so many questions that she wanted to ask him, but she knew that now wasn’t the right time. Why hadn’t Jas told them that it was his birthday? Did he not like celebrating his birthday or was it something to do with his family? She hoped that they weren’t making the wrong decision in deciding to celebrate but, at the very least, they could make Jas understand how important he was to them and how much they loved him.

Dinner at Kaer Morhen wasn’t exactly fraught, but neither was it relaxed. Everybody focused on their food, wanting to get through it, to the conversation that lay beyond. When they were finished eating and the kitchen cleared, they retired to the sitting room.

“So, Jaskier’s birthday. I mean, that means cake, right?”

One by one, the gaze of Vesemir, Eskel, Geralt and Lambert turned to Ciri who shook her head.

“You do realise I’m the reason that Jas had to hire Cahir? I mean, not entirely … but he tried to teach Dara and I to bake and we were bloody useless. I think he thought about apprenticing us, but I was so bad that Jaskier had to abandon that idea. That’s how he ended up with Cahir. Jas tried to show us how to make brownies. I started with the same ingredients, but it tasted completely different. Not that we could really taste anything. I burned them. So badly. I got brownie mix baked onto the oven and all over me. We ended up sat on the floor in hysterics. Still, I think we should make sure that he has a birthday cake, even if I’m going nowhere near it.”

“Well, if Ciri takes after the rest of us, what are we going to do? Part of the reason that Wanderlust is so successful is because there was nothing like it here in the first place. And there’s no question about the fact that Jaskier deserves better than a supermarket cake.”

“Well, what the fuck are we going to do then?”

“You’re forgetting something,” Aiden spoke up from where he was leaning against the wall. “Or rather, someone.”

“And what – who - is that?”

“Gweld and I,” Aiden gestured at the young physio who had become part of the family since he had been hired and brought into the Kaer Morhen fold and who stood next to him.

“Are you trying to tell me that you can bake? Gweld!”

“My nana taught me when I was a kid. I mean, it’s not fancy flavours like Jaskier does and I can’t make them look pretty but I can make it edible.”

“And while my decorating skills are nowhere near on a par with Jaskier’s, I’ve watched enough episodes of Bake Off to make whatever Gweld bakes look good.”

A shocked silence fell over the room that was only broken by Lambert’s sputtering. “Fucking hell, Aiden. Is there anything you can’t do? How did I not know this?”

“I thought you did! Where did you think dinner comes from when you have dinner at mine? A genie?”

“I thought it came from that posh food place. You know, the one that does the food porn adverts on TV.”

“I cooked all of that.”

“Fuuuuuuck.” Lambert’s eyes glazed over, causing Ciri to giggle and her Uncle Eskel and Papa to roll their eyes. “Okay, great. Aiden and Gweld are going to bake Buttercup a cake. Aiden and I are leaving now.”

Lambert wasted no time in dragging Aiden from the room, presumably in the direction of Aiden’s flat, Gweld excusing himself moments later. Ciri was ready to depart for the privacy of her bedroom herself but was stopped by her Papa.

“Ciri?”

“Yes?”

“Weeks ago … the first time Jaskier cooked here, I asked a question about his family. Jaskier never said, but it wasn’t well received. What do you know?”

Ciri shrugged, “not much. The only stuff I do know is what Jas told me.”

“What did he tell you, cub?”

“When did he tell you this?”

Ciri allowed herself to be tugged down in between her Uncle Eskel and Papa. Truthfully, she needed no persuasion. Ever since that first time that Jaskier had cooked here, they had been taking more care to spend time with her and make sure that she felt important and loved. She shrugged, somewhat awkwardly given the weight of her Uncle Eskel’s arm draped over her shoulder and played with her Papa’s fingers.

“Not much. He doesn’t like talking about his family. And he told me just after Uncle Eskel came home, when he was being weird and locked himself in his room. Uncle Lambert sent me to Jas at Wanderlust for the night while he talked some sense into Uncle Eskel. Jas ordered pizza from Temeria, made me watch Clueless and let me cry on him. It’s interesting really. He understood you both before he started dating you. Anyway, I asked him about his family. He didn’t say much. They’re still alive but that’s pretty much it; they don’t talk to him. Well, maybe his mum does but his dad doesn’t.”

Ciri glanced up, looking them both in the eye. “Did you know that you’re dating aristocracy?”

She outright cackled as both men sputtered in shock, looking rather poleaxed. “Yeah, his dad is the Earl of Lettenhove. Some weird British title. I looked him up on the internet, but the guy looks like he has a spiky stick shoved up his arse and he’s said some really stupid stuff. He doesn’t approve of what Jas does so he won’t talk to him and he even stops Jas’ mum from talking to him properly. I told Jas that he was part of the Kaer Morhen wolf pack, that he was family. And that’s even more true now than it was that night considering he’s dating both of you. So, we have to make his birthday special because Jas is special. And he said that family isn’t always the people you’re blood related to, but the people you choose and we chose him like he chose us.”

“No complaints from us, cub. It will be the birthday that our Songbird deserves.”

“We’ll make it special, Ciri; we promise you that. We just need to work out what that includes.”

~*~

“Papa?” Ciri poked her head around the door of the space that was now Kaer Morhen’s yoga studio. “Can I talk to you?”

Her papa hummed as he twisted himself into slightly more of a pretzel shape. “Can you give me five minutes to finish up?”

“Sure.” Ciri slipped inside and picked a corner of the room, curling up to watch his movements.

She had watched her papa doing yoga so many times over the years, yet it still never failed to surprise her how graceful he was when he did yoga. Everybody always made assumptions based on what they knew about his career and his build but, yoga aside, Ciri knew that her papa was one of the kindest, gentlest men she knew alongside her grandpa and her uncles. Her eyes bugged out of her head as he proceeded to move into a position where his entire bodyweight was resting on his forearms. That was a new one. Yet, despite the clear show of strength on display, he made it look completely effortless and graceful. Ciri did not have that skill. She could do yoga – Geralt had taught her himself when she was younger – and they were practising yoga together once a week now, but she didn’t quite have the patience for it. It had been the same with ballet when she had been a small girl; she loved the turns and the jumps, but she had been bored by the slow pace of everything else. Boxing still required patience, but its faster pace appealed more to Ciri. Ciri looked up as her Papa slid down the wall to sit next to her.

“So, what did you want to talk about, cub?”

“Why did you start yoga?”

“That was what you wanted to talk about? Why I started yoga?”

“No, but I was curious. I asked you when I was little, but you never answered. Or not properly.”

Geralt was silent for a long time. So long that Ciri was worried she had stepped over the line, “you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“No, I was just thinking. I started before you came to us; you were probably about three or four, in all likelihood. There was a mission and it … didn’t go well. I was injured. Not as badly as Eskel was, but I wasn’t in a good way. It was Eist, your grandfather, who suggested the yoga. He was quite progressive, more so than Calanthe. Apparently, he was aware of research that suggested yoga was beneficial not only for injury rehabilitation but as a way of managing PTSD. I wasn’t showing signs, but they wanted to be careful – Eist more for my health whereas your grandmother didn’t want to lose a competent soldier. I was sceptical. It sounded like complete and utter bullshit. It worked though. And I found that I liked it, so I carried on.”

“Teaching though?”

“I started – and finished – my teaching qualifications when you came to live with us. 300 hours. I needed something to do, I felt helpless not knowing how to help you. And that’s all there is to it. Now that you know that, what was the real reason you wanted to talk to me?”

“Have you and Uncle Eskel decided what you’re getting Jas for his birthday?”

Geralt nodded, “we have.”

“What are you getting him? Unless it’s something I really don’t need or want to know about.”

Geralt snorted. “We’re taking him away for the weekend, some place that I know. Just the three of us. You’d stay here with Dad and Lambert, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Are we goat-sitting as well?”

“You are indeed. Eskel has agreed she doesn’t need to come. Is that what this is about? You don’t know what to get Jaskier?”

Ciri nodded glumly. “I had an idea but the more I think about it, the more that it doesn’t seem enough. Jas is special and he’s important to me. Almost as important as you, Uncles Eskel and Lambert and Grandpa. He deserves something really special because he is really special.”

“ _Ciri…_ I can guarantee that Jaskier will love anything you give him because it’s from you and it has emotions attached to it. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I’m not eight years old anymore, Papa.”

“What has that got to do with anything? I’m perfectly aware that you’re growing up far too fast.”

“Grandpa said almost exactly the same thing to me on the run up to Father’s Day that year. Do you remember what I gave you for Father’s Day that year?”

Geralt paused, thinking about what he had been given, only for his face to twist in horror. “Oh Melitele, that was … not good.”

Ciri nodded wryly in agreement. “It was a mug that I made myself and painted in unicorn colours with so much glitter it was lumpy.”

“The handle fell off the third time I used it.”

“Now do you see why I’m worried?”

Geralt hugged her to his side, “that was ten years ago. Your taste has improved undoubtedly since then. Look, if you’re that worried about it, why don’t you tell me what you thought about getting him and I can give you my thoughts.”

Ciri was silent for a while then wiggled against him before producing a crumpled piece of paper that she hesitantly held out. “It’s like the one I did for Kaer Morhen, just for Wanderlust instead.”

Geralt smoothed out the paper to see a design etched out in beautiful shades of yellow, gold and ochre with a background the same shade of blue as Jaskier’s eyes. In yellow and ochre was the word ‘Wanderlust’ above an arrow while behind it, in gold, was a rendition of Jaskier’s lute. The same one that he had been playing in the video that Lambert had sent Geralt and Eskel.

“Ciri, it’s beautiful. How can you think that Jaskier wouldn’t love this?”

“It just doesn’t seem like much or enough. I did think of something else as well; Dara’s mum makes personalised notebooks and sells them online. I thought about getting him a manuscript book for his songs and having her put some buttercups on the cover.”

“Ciri – _cub_ – I can guarantee that you can’t get anything more perfect for Jaskier. He will love it. Get him the notebook from Dara’s mum – do you have enough money? And then redo this design. Any medium you want. If you need new materials, I’ll get them for you. When you’re finished, we can get it framed.”

“You really think he’ll like it that much?”

“I know it.”

Ciri stretched up to press a kiss to Geralt’s cheek, “thanks, Papa.”

~*~

“Are you sure that this cake is Jaskier’s favourite?”

“You’d better not have mucked up the salt and sugar.”

“This is Buttercup’s cake; you’d better not have fucked it up.”

“What if I got the wrong type of cake? What if Jas didn’t understand?”

“What can I smell? You haven’t burnt it, have you?”

“Will you lot piss off out of my kitchen?” Gweld lost his patience under the onslaught that had been going ever since he had taken over the Kaer Morhen kitchen.

“I believe that’s my kitchen, Gweld, but the sentiment isn’t wrong. Piss off you lot, make sure that everything is organised for later.”

“Yes, you got the right kind of cake. Yes, we’re sure it’s Jaskier’s favourite. No, I didn’t fuck up the salt and the sugar. You can smell cake. No, it isn’t burnt. The cake is fucking perfect. We’re going to leave it to cool and then Aiden is going to decorate. No, he doesn’t need an assistant. Definitely not, if said assistant is Ciri. Vesemir is right; go and check on everything else, the cake is under control.”

It was probably the most that they had heard Gweld speak so far. ”Look, everything is under control. Go and check on everything else and then Aiden can decorate as soon as it is cool enough.”

With Vesemir glaring at them, the wolves of Kaer Morhen did as they were instructed, moving to the living room so that they could check through the plans for the rest of the evening.

“Okay, so Cintra is booked with Mousesack. I asked for a private area but he’s closed the club for the night; said most people would be there anyway.”

“Coën has made sure everyone we wanted to invite knows about tonight.”

“Yennefer’s put a tab behind the bar for us and her and Triss.”

“Mousesack has told his bar staff that Ciri and Dara will be there. They’ll be allowed one drink and that’s it.”

“Jas doesn’t know about anything.”

“Then you have everything under control.” Once again, Vesemir delivered his order. “Now get out of here and occupy yourselves without annoying Gweld and Aiden.”

(~*~)

Jaskier blinked in confusion as he turned around from having locked Wanderlust for the night and made to go over to Kaer Morhen only to be stopped by Geralt’s arm around his waist, reeling him back in.

“Not tonight, lark.”

“What do you mean? I thought we were going to yours? You said we were spending the evening with Ciri.”

Eskel took Jaskier’s hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “We are spending the evening with Ciri, just in a different location.”

Jaskier still looked baffled, but allowed himself to be towed along, Geralt’s arm still wrapped around his waist and Eskel holding his hand. He was no less confused when they came to a halt outside their presumed destination.

“Cintra? I thought you said we were spending time with Ciri?”

Neither of his lovers responded, merely stared enigmatically and pulled him towards the entrance of Cintra, which looked remarkably quiet, even for midweek. It was just as quiet as they moved inside, leaving Jaskier a little unsettled.

“What’s going on? Do you think maybe we should ring the police? What if something has happened?”

All of a sudden, the lights flipped on and a huge shout rang out around Cintra. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JASKIER!!”

Jaskier staggered back in surprise and then some more as Ciri bounded up to envelop him in a hug, only Geralt and Eskel’s hands keeping him steady, such was the force of her embrace. She was followed by Lambert, Aiden, Coën, Yennefer and Triss. Finally, both Eskel and Geralt bestowed lingering kisses to his lips.

“Happy birthday, love.”

“But, what, how? I don’t understand… I didn’t tell anyone. How did you know that it was my birthday?” He looked at Ciri, bouncing just as she had on so many other occasions, “Essi.”

“Yup. She messaged me and I told everyone else. We planned this for you. There’s even cake.”

“You didn’t bake it, did you kiddo?”

“Rude! Nope. Gweld did. And it’s your favourite.”

It was his favourite.

For all the creations he concocted, when it came to eating cake, Jaskier was a relatively simple man at heart and his favourite was a Victoria sponge cake with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. This one didn’t disappoint. He joked that he was going to steal Aiden away from the university and Gweld away from Kaer Morhen after his first bite of the cake. Ciri’s gift brought him to tears and, thanks to Yennefer, the champagne was top drawer. Jaskier wasted no time getting on the dance floor, allowing Ciri to drag him there and taking Lambert with him. He was very happy dancing away, accepting the congratulations of various people, very aware that Eskel and Geralt were watching his every move like hawks.

It was all good until Jaskier was bored of being watched.

“What are the odds that I can convince the two of you to dance with me?”

“Completely non-existent.”

“Fuck all.”

The answer from both Geralt and Eskel was simultaneous and it was not the answer that Jaskier had wanted to hear. He dropped himself into Eskel’s lap, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s neck and pulling him in closer as he pouted and widened his eyes, batting his lashes.

“Songbird, you look ridiculous.”

“Why won’t you dance with me? It’s my birthday!”

“Which you had no intention of telling us. We only know because of Essi. And that whine is worse than an eight-year-old Ciri, lark.”

“But it’s my birthday!”

“We’re not dancing. We can’t dance.”

“Nonsense. If you can box, you can dance.”

“You’re not lacking in dance partners, Jaskier. You don’t need us. Dance with Ciri or Lambert. Hell, dance with Yen and Triss.”

“I don’t want to dance with them now. I’ve danced with them and while I love dancing with Ciri, I want to dance with my lovers.”

“Jaskier, we love you. But dancing is not something that we will do.”

“And nothing could persuade you otherwise?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Jaskier’s tone turned wheedling, “so not even if I told you that I had some of that icing you’re so fond of in the fridge at Wanderlust and you can do anything you want with it.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.” Jaskier nodded, unable to prevent his lips curving up ever so slightly as he knew that he had won.

“One dance,” it was all but growled out in tandem.

Jaskier was already on his feet, towing them towards the dance floor and exchanging a victorious look with Yennefer as he did so. Once there, he slotted himself between Geralt and Eskel, wrapping his arms around Eskel’s neck and feeling Geralt press against his back, arms wrapping around Jaskier and Eskel. As Jaskier had expected, both men were more than competent dancers, despite their protests. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ciri holding up her phone either taking photos or filming them but didn’t draw attention to it. He’d get her to send them to him later. For the moment, he was simply happy to be held and enjoy the sensations.

He owed Essi big time for this.

And then it changed. Eskel shifted his hips so that Jaskier was all but straddling his thigh and Geralt was still pressed close enough that his crotch was all but grinding against Jaskier’s arse.

It was his birthday. Surely, he was allowed to leave early? Or, at the very least, disappear into the bathroom for a quickie. Judging from Lambert and Aiden’s rumpled state, said bathrooms had already seen some action tonight.

~*~

The last thing Jaskier had been expecting as his gift from his lovers – from Geralt and Eskel – had been this. He had known that they were going to take him away, or at least suspected it, when they had started asking questions about how long his cakes would last once they had been baked. They had confirmed it when they had asked him to make a couple of extras on the Friday morning and told him that they were going to pack a bag for him. He had expected an Air B’n’B or a nice hotel for the weekend.

He hadn’t expected Corvo Bianco.

A beautiful vineyard with a guesthouse several hours drive away from both Wanderlust and Kaer Morhen. Apparently, it was owned by a former colleague of Geralt’s and he even held shares in it. The guesthouse was done in the style of a Tuscan villa and beautifully decorated. The suite that they were staying in took up the whole of the second floor and was completely self-sufficient. As Geralt and Eskel watched, Jaskier explored the space. There was beautiful balcony that overlooked what Jaskier thought were olive trees. A massive bed that would have more than enough room for the three of them and was just crying out to be used.

And then he moved into the bathroom and let out a little whimper at the sight of the massive bathroom. It was at the back and overlooked the vineyard with huge windows but what really caught Jaskier’s attention was the obnoxiously large bathtub. Quite frankly, it was too big to be called a bathtub, it was more like a jacuzzi.

He wanted in it, right now. He called out to the other two.

“I know we talked about dinner, but could we take a rain check?”

Geralt appeared in the doorway, “really? You want to take a rain check on dinner for a bath?”

“It’s not just any bath though, is it? All three of us could fit in that.”

Eskel materialised behind Geralt’s shoulder, “I’m in.”

“You are?” Geralt remained sceptical.

“Come on Geralt, live a little,” Jaskier wheedled. “I’ll even rub …” he fumbled for one of the bottles, squinting at the label “chamomile oil into that lovely bottom of yours.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at Jaskier who merely grinned unrepentantly. He then turned the same look on Eskel who wasn’t even attempting to repress his laughter, “you’re just encouraging him.”

“Of course, I am. Songbird is right. It’s a lovely arse.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and moved forward, pulling his shirt over his head as he started filling the tub. Jaskier exchanged a look of ecstatic disbelief with Eskel and started pulling off his own clothes before examining the various bottles surrounding the tub, pouring a mixture of them into the steaming water, ignoring Geralt’s protests.

As soon as it was full enough, Jaskier was in the tub, sinking down until he was buried neck deep in the steaming hot water and mounds of bubbles. This was what he had needed. It hadn’t been a long drive but it had been a busy few months, he had barely had any sleep the night of his birthday party at Cintra and then he had run himself not quite ragged but not far off trying to get the cakes baked for while he was away. Even better, it had wet, naked Geralt and Eskel opposite him. Jaskier took great delight in tormenting them, running his toes up legs and tangling their legs together under the water as Geralt and Eskel indulged him, doing their own teasing by grabbing his ankle and tickling him. Only when the water was starting to go cold did they start to think about moving.

“Dinner, lark?”

Jaskier cocked his head, “can I have dinner and a show? In the opposite order.”

“What kind of show are you thinking of?”

“I want to watch the two of you. Who fucks who doesn’t really matter.”

“That’s what you want? You don’t want something else?”

Jaskier shook his head. “Nope. It’s my birthday. Surely that means I get what I want?” Jaskier pouted and batted his eyelashes ridiculously.

“You tried that already.”

Jaskier’s smile was smug, “and it worked. Besides, it’s not as though I’m asking you to dance at Cintra again. Even if you were both more than capable.”

“I think we were just more expecting you to want one of us to fuck you.”

“There’s plenty of time for that; we have the whole weekend. It’s my birthday and I want to watch the two of you.”

“As you wish, Songbird.”

The three of them dried off and moved into the bedroom where Jaskier took a seat at the head of the bed, lazily stroking his cock as he did so. Quite frankly, this was what he had been waiting for. He had seen Eskel and Geralt kiss more times than he could count but fuck? He hadn’t seen that. Obviously, he knew that they had had sex but well, he had never seen it. As he watched, they seemingly had a conversation via their eyebrows and, given what happened, apparently Eskel was fucking Geralt.

It was probably the hottest thing that Jaskier had ever seen and he had a) watched a lot of porn and b) fucked both of them. Even so, Jaskier was not prepared for the sight of Eskel opening Geralt up with those thick fingers. Especially when he knew how they felt, how he could empathise with Geralt. The sight of the two of them moving together, of Eskel burying his cock in Geralt with steady movements was everything that Jaskier had wanted. He fisted his cock harder, faster, trying to match his movements to theirs until he spilled himself over his fist mere seconds before Eskel’s hips stuttered and he stroked Geralt to orgasm, minutes before he reached his own.

Quite frankly, it was the perfect birthday present.

(~*~)

The following morning, Jaskier woke to Eskel starfished across the bed, face buried in the pillow and arm thrown over Jaskier’s waist. There was no sign of Geralt and, while it was tempting to stay in bed with Eskel, the sun streaming through the windows was a draw to get up. Moving slowly so that he didn’t disturb Eskel’s sleep, Jaskier crept out of bed and padded out into the main area of the suite. The slightly open balcony doors gave him a clue as to where Geralt might be and Jaskier diverted by the bathroom, just in case.

As he moved out onto the balcony, Jaskier was greeted by the sight of Geralt in nothing but the tiniest pair of shorts Jaskier had ever seen moving into downward facing dog and he couldn’t help the whispered “Fuuuuuuuck” that escaped him. Geralt looked glorious in the early morning sunshine, torso glistening just a little with sweat. He watched a little longer as Geralt moved through the rest of his asana until he was sat cross-legged. Speaking a little louder, he made his presence known to Geralt.

“Well, this is a very pleasant sight to wake up to.”

Geralt turned his head and smiled at Jaskier, encouraging him to move over. He probably intended for Jaskier to sit next to him but Jaskier simply plopped himself into Geralt’s lap, wiggling to make himself comfortable.

“Something you wanted, lark?”

“Other than ogling one of my gorgeous lovers while he does yoga? Yes, actually.” Jaskier slipped his hand into Geralt’s yoga pants and wrapped it around his cock. “I thought, seeing as it’s such a lovely morning, you could fuck me.”

He could feel Geralt’s cock twitch in interest, starting to chub up as Jaskier wrapped his hand around it and gave it a few strokes of encouragement. As he did so, Jaskier wiggled in Geralt’s lap and adjusted himself until he was on his knees and Geralt’s yoga pants had been pulled down a little and tucked under his balls, Geralt’s cock in his hand.

“Don’t we need…”

“Already done.” Well, that and Jaskier was still slightly loose from the previous evening when the two of them had fucked him after dinner.

“Shit, lark.” Geralt’s hands came up and took hold of Jaskier’s hips, holding him steady as he lowered himself, sheathing Geralt’s cock within him.

Jaskier couldn’t help the moan that escaped him. This was exactly what he wanted this morning. The early morning sunshine was warm on his skin and Geralt’s cock was at the perfect angle, brushing over that spot as Jaskier undulated his hips and Geralt thrust upwards. There was only one thing that would make it perfect and, almost as though Jaskier had summoned him, Eskel appeared in the doorway, naked and sleep-rumpled. He was also half-hard.

Jaskier made grabby hands at him, his rhythm hitching slightly as he did so. As soon as he was close enough, Jaskier reached out and grabbed Eskel by the arse, tugging him close enough that Jaskier could take his cock and swallow it down. It took a while for them to find their rhythm, but they managed it. In truth, it was mostly Jaskier being moved and manhandled as Geralt fucked up into him and Eskel fucked his face. It was exactly the morning that he had wanted and he was almost disappointed when Geralt spilled inside him, Geralt’s hand wrapping around Jaskier’s cock and roughly stroking him off so that he came all over Geralt’s stomach at the same time as Eskel came down Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier hummed happily as he was kissed thoroughly, both Geralt and Eskel’s tongues delving into his mouth, no doubt tasting Eskel’s release as they did so.

“Breakfast?”

“Nope. Later on, I’m going to introduce you to a wonderful concept that I’m sure you’ve never heard of; brunch. We’re going to sit here and enjoy the sunshine with some coffee – even if we all know that it won’t be as good as mine – and then, when we’re ready, we’re going to go back inside where I am going to fuck Eskel while he sucks you off, Geralt. Any objections? No? Great. I’m going to get the coffee.”


	15. I and Love and You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of snapshots in which we see people and events through the eyes of Kaer Morhen's newest employee, Gweld.

Gweld hadn’t known what he was letting himself in for when he accepted the position with Kaer Morhen. To be perfectly honest, he hadn’t really been thinking when he had submitted his CV for consideration. Things hadn’t exactly been going well at his previous employers. Or the one before them. Hence him applying for the Kaer Morhen position.

Going into sports massage and physiotherapy had never been part of Gweld’s career plan. Ever since he was a child, he had dreamed of going into the Armed Forces. It had been all he dreamed of. Going into the military was something of a family tradition; his brothers, dad, uncles, grandad, great grandad had all served going back five or six generations. Gweld had planned on doing the same. He had been part of the Combined Cadet Force throughout school and had made his plans for once he finished school accordingly.

His carefully detailed plans had started to come crashing down around his eyes when he was sixteen years old. In addition to being a dedicated member of the CCF, Gweld had been a star of the first XV rugby team and had been selected for the u18 regional team. Unfortunately for him, the opposing prop had been 18 and built like a brick outhouse. One brutal – and unfortunately legal – tackle had left Gweld barely able to limp off the pitch with a ruptured anterior cruciate ligament. That had led to the first surgery – taking ligaments from elsewhere in his body and replacing the damaged one – but it had been the start of a slippery slope. By the time that he had finished his A-levels, he had had a second surgery and several metal pins in his knee. He also had a very polite email from the army recruiting officer stating that they were very sorry but, even though he would normally have been a shoo-in, he no longer met recruiting requirements.

Gweld’s dreams had been shattered on the rugby pitch. He may be able to play amateur rugby but, despite the fact that his knee was probably stronger than it would have been without the metal, the Army wouldn’t take him. He had had to rethink everything and that was how he ended up doing physiotherapy and sports massage; without the people who worked with him, he wouldn’t be able to walk, let alone play amateur rugby. It may not have been what he had dreamed of doing, he enjoyed it nonetheless.

What he hadn’t enjoyed were the companies that he had worked for upon graduation.

Stygga had been the first. They had come around the university during final year and cherry-picked the best of the soon to be graduates. On the surface, it had seemed like the perfect job. Good salary, employee benefits and a good reputation in the industry. Gweld had accepted the job without hesitation. He had left university with a first-class degree and a job. It had only taken him six months to realise that Stygga wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

They had been followed by Dyn Marv. It had been better than Stygga, but then that hadn’t been saying much. While Stygga had been the big corporate company, Dyn Marv was a smaller organisation, made up of freelancers. They worked out of rented rooms and had the time to speak to their clients, build relationships but, at the same time, it was harder than it had been with Stygga. As the youngest – and newest – member of the team, Gweld wasn’t the priority when it came to getting new clients. Eventually, when he was sick of beans and toast or ramen for dinner three weeks in a row, he had just started applying for jobs all over the place. As much as he loved Dyn Marv, it wasn’t what he wanted long term.

He sent CV’s out to what seemed like hundreds of places, got offers of interviews at fewer places than he liked and not a single one of them offered him a job. He almost missed the advert for Kaer Morhen and then even debated whether or not to apply for it. Surely, they would be looking for someone with more experience than him. He had tried not to get his hopes up when he was invited for interview and then had to try even more so when he actually arrived at Kaer Morhen and realised that it was the dream job he hadn’t realised he wanted.

The owners were an interesting bunch. All of them were obviously ex-soldiers, that was clear from the way that they held themselves. All of them were scarred but one of them was, to Gweld’s trained eye, still suffering from his injuries. And yes, none of them were particularly talkative and the main interviewer seemed like he was a prickly arsehole, but they were talking about giving him the opportunity to do whatever he wanted.

Gweld was so surprised when they offered him the job on the spot that he had just stared at them for a good five minutes before they had to prompt him and check he was okay. He had stammered and stuttered his way through an acceptance, not really listening to anything that was said until he had had to email them to double check things.

He had known that Kaer Morhen was the right place for him, Gweld just hadn’t realised that he was getting so much more than a job in the process.

~*~

Gweld hadn’t been expecting one of his new employees to be his first client.

Then again, it was pretty clear that Eskel didn’t want to be one of his clients, given that he had been all but dragged into the room by Vesemir, the obvious father figure of the lot. Lambert was the prickly arsehole who had been manning the desk that morning, which meant that Geralt was the attractive but monosyllabic blond.

Now, even more so than on the day of his interview, it was apparent that Eskel had been injured and badly. And not that long ago either. There was a certain stiffness to his gait and the way that he held himself suggested someone that was no longer completely comfortable within themselves. Casting a critical professional eye over the burly frame, Gweld was pretty sure that he knew what he was working with but that wasn’t enough. He needed to hear it from the man himself.

“So, what’s the problem?”

The response was more a growl than actual words. “There’s no fucking problem.”

“Bullshit. I know you’re teaching boxing right now, but there is no way you’re doing that without pain or without potentially causing yourself more damage. Now, I’ve got a pretty good idea of what’s going on but, you can either tell me yourself or I’ll just phone your doctor.”

He watched as Eskel bristled, but Gweld wasn’t scared. He had been going up against men Eskel’s size on the rugby pitch since he had been in his early teens; he just had to hold his ground. And maybe channel Vesemir. He wasn’t sure that it would work but, just as he was ready to cave, Eskel beat him to it. It was begrudging, but he relayed all of the information and most of it tallied with what Gweld had suspected. Next came another question that Gweld could already predict the answer to.

“Were you given exercises to do by a physio when they discharged you? A rehab programme to follow at home?”

To say that Gweld was expecting Eskel to act all sheepish and avoid the question as best as he could was an understatement. He also wasn’t surprised in the slightest by the answer; Eskel had never bothered doing any of the exercises that he had been given beyond a couple of cursory attempts to keep the hospital off his back.

“Given your injuries, it’s a fucking miracle that you’re moving as well as you do let alone teach boxing classes.” Gweld merely raised an eyebrow when Eskel protested that he had been doing yoga, “that’s all well and good but yoga isn’t going to help you prevent arthritis when you’re older. So, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to take your shirt off and get on the table so that I can figure out how I’m going to help you. And no, I don’t give a damn about whatever scars you might be hiding under there.”

Gweld wasn’t lying. He had seen more than his fair share of scars and injuries over the years and while Eskel’s were bad, they weren’t the worst he had seen. He put Eskel through his paces, testing his range of movement and noticing the points where, whilst Eskel didn’t complain, his face tightened in pain. By the end of the appointment, Gweld had a long list of exercises to talk Eskel through, which he did. When he had done that, he pressed a small bottle into Eskel’s hand.

“Look, it’s not going to be easy, but I promise it will be worth it. That’s massage oil, I blend it myself. You do all of your exercises and then you convince your partners – whatever you’re calling them – to give you a massage. Call it incentive.”

That earned Gweld the first smile of the session from Eskel, “I like the way you think.”

“Let’s see if you’re saying the same thing when I see you in three days’ time.”

~*~

Ciri was an experience.

One that Gweld wasn’t quite prepared for.

He had a younger sister and a multitude of female cousins, but none of them were quite like Ciri. Then again, none of them had had the upbringing that she had. His sister and cousins had had parents and siblings from the day that they were born. They hadn’t been orphaned and left with their grandparents, only for said grandparents to die and be left with a stranger. The girls of his family had grown up with stability and female role models. Ciri had mostly had Vesemir and Yennefer and, of the two, Gweld wasn’t sure which was more terrifying.

Kaer Morhen was clearly Ciri’s home from home – along with Café Wanderlust – and, as Gweld’s office and treatment rooms were situated within Kaer Morhen, she took that as meaning she could wander in and out of them whenever she pleased. Gweld was more than a little bewildered the first time that he returned to his office from making a coffee to find Ciri sat on her desk, legs swinging and calmly announcing that she needed to know exactly what exercises her Uncle Eskel needed to be doing so that she could ensure that he was doing them properly. Gweld had been more than taken aback but had done as he was told; for a teenage girl, Ciri was rather terrifying.

The next time he had left his office, this time to grab a sandwich for his lunch, he had locked his office door. It hadn’t made the slightest bit of difference. When he got back, meal deal in hand, Ciri had been sat on his desk once again, legs swinging as she fiddled with something on her phone.

“Why the fuck did you go to Tesco when Wanderlust is across the road? The food is bloody brilliant, and Jas will give you a discount because you’re a wolf of Kaer Morhen. Cahir is weird but his bread is amazing; the sandwiches are 1000% better than Tesco’s.”

“Who taught you that kind of language? And how the hell did you get in? I locked the door.”

“Have you met who brought me up? And yeah, locking the door doesn’t make a difference. Uncle Lambert taught me how to pick locks when I was ten. So, again, why would you go to Tesco when you could go to Wanderlust?”

“Are you here for a reason other than breaking into my office and quizzing me on my dietary habits?”

“What do I need to do if I was considering doing this for a career?”

“Define this.”

“What you do. I’m supposed to be deciding what I’m going to do when I leave school and while I love art, it’s not exactly a good career to go into. How do you feel about taking me on for some work experience?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Ciri’s grin was wicked, “not really. Do you want one?”

Gweld returned the grin, “you know what? I don’t think I do. Get ready kiddo, I’m not going to go easy on you.”

~*~

Gweld quickly discovered that, rather than taking a job at Kaer Morhen, he had all but been adopted by them. For all that they had been almost monosyllabic in his interview, he was more than a little taken aback to find that the two of them were almost instrumental in him feeling welcome in Kaer Morhen. They were unobtrusive about it, but they definitely went out of their way to make sure that he was comfortable and happy. Almost as though they were welcoming him into a second family rather than merely a job.

Proof of that was one Friday night when they found out that he was planning on spending the evening alone in the room that he was renting with a few students from the university and, instead, insisted that he come to movie night with the rest of what he had discovered was nicknamed the Kaer Morhen wolf pack. Gweld had been hesitant, not sure if he would throw off the dynamic, but had accepted the invitation nonetheless, not wanting to upset his employers.

Whatever he had been expecting, it hadn’t been what greeted him.

Gweld had met the owner of Wanderlust – Jaskier – and heard Ciri talk about him in context with her papa and Uncle Eskel, had known that he was seeing the two of them but was not remotely prepared to see it. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting from their relationship, but it certainly wasn’t to see the normally stoic Geralt laughing and teasing both Eskel and Jaskier or Eskel clearly completely and utterly comfortable with himself. The only thing he wasn’t surprised to see Jaskier being overly affectionate with both of his lovers and fussing over Lil’ Bleater.

Accepting a bowl of popcorn from Ciri and holding it out of reach of an incredibly persistent and peckish miniature goat, Gweld allowed himself to be drawn into a debate on the film they were watching and, yet again, found himself inordinately grateful that he hadn’t missed the advert for the Kaer Morhen job opening. The only thing that would make this better was if the Wanderlust luck would rub off on him and, if Ciri was to be believed that the cake had magical romance creating properties, bring him a relationship as well.

~*~

Gweld hated early mornings. There were no ifs or buts about it. He was not an early bird; he liked his sleep too much. As far as Gweld was concerned, nothing could beat whiling away the morning in bed He had been that way since he was a small child and years of CCF and OTC had been able to change that. Unfortunately, while there were a number of clients who wanted appointments after they had finished work, there were a similar number who wanted their sessions before they started the working day. Given how much free rein he had been given, knowing that he had fallen on his feet when Kaer Morhen had employed him, Gweld hadn’t felt like he was able to say no. He did only do one early morning though, as opposed to two late nights.

It was on his one early morning when Gweld at Kaer Morhen, cradling his coffee as though it were nectar of the gods. It wasn’t. Mostly because it wasn’t from Wanderlust. There was another downside of early opening; he officially opened before Wanderlust didn’t. One thing was for sure; Gweld had been completely ruined once he had had Jaskier’s coffee for the first time. Depending on the length of the appointment, he either had to make it through one long appointment or two shorter sessions before he could run across the road in between clients.

The main doors to Kaer Morhen were open and there were a couple of people in the main gym already, a small group in the yoga studio where Geralt was teaching his own early-bird class but Gweld blearily noted that there was no sign of Lambert on the main reception. The coffee hadn’t kicked in yet and the music was loud in his ears as Gweld fumbled with the keys for his treatment room. He was more than a little confused when the key didn’t turn properly implying that he hadn’t locked up the previous evening. It wasn’t anything huge – Kaer Morhen was always locked anyway – but he tried to stick to the habit but he had been distracted by Ciri the previous evening, so it was entirely possible that he had simply forgotten to lock the doors.

What Gweld was not expecting was to push open the door and be greeted with a naked arse thrusting into a body sprawled over Gweld’s treatment table.

“What the actual fuck?!” He ripped out his headphones and, without his music, heard the cacophony of moans, grunts and curses that would have given the game away.

Lambert’s head popped up which meant that the arse Gweld could see belonged to the elusive Aiden, who had been away working so Gweld hadn’t met him yet. “Morning, Gweld!”

“What do you mean, morning? Why are you fucking on my treatment table?”

“Well, Aiden got back early this morning and it’s been weeks since we’ve seen each other. We didn’t have time to get to his or back to the house before I had to open so…”

“So what, you decided to use my treatment room? What the hell?! I have to treat people on that bed. This is breaking so many health and safety codes, it’s untrue.”

“Do you think this is how Cahir reacted when Eskel and Buttercup fucked in the kitchens at Wanderlust?”

“Never mind that, why are you still shagging? I’m still stood here!” This was, hands down, the worst moment that he had had since joining Kaer Morhen. He had thought that moment taken by the time he walked in on Geralt, Eskel and Jaskier in the store cupboard but no, this was worse. So much worse.

“Reunion sex waits for no man.”

“Officially the worst boss.” Gweld started to back out of the room, “you have 15mins until my first client. You had better have scrubbed that table to within an inch of its life with disinfectant. And I’m telling Vesemir about this.”

~*~

Given his comment at his birthday party, Gweld wasn’t entirely surprised when Jaskier all but threw himself into the empty seat at Gweld’s table the week after the party and Jaskier’s long weekend away with Eskel and Geralt.

“Gweld! Are you sure that I can’t steal you away from Kaer Morhen? That Victoria sponge was to die for.”

Gweld grinned, “I’ll have to tell my nana that all those hours spent with me in the kitchen weren’t wasted.”

“She was the one who taught you to bake?”

Gweld looked around curiously, seeing that Jaskier was apparently in this for the long haul. “You don’t have customers to serve?”

Jaskier flapped a hand, “that’s why I have employees. Besides, it’s a Tuesday. Hardly our busiest day. And you didn’t answer my question. Was your nana the one who taught you to bake?”

Gweld nodded. “Yes. Me and all of my siblings. I just took to it better than they did, except for my youngest cousin. She was pretty good. My brother’s attempts turned out like lumps of rock and my sister refused to attempt it.”

“Sounds like your brothers are the male version of Ciri, then. She tries, but she will never be one with the kitchen.”

“She said as much when we were discussing what to do with the knowledge of your birthday. Something about her being the reason you hired Cahir?”

“My kitchen still cries whenever Ciri walks in. We do not speak of that time.”

Gweld snorted his coffee at Jaskier’s mock-sad tone and gestured around at Wanderlust. “Who taught you to bake? I mean, this is better than my nan’s stuff and that’s saying a lot. Was it your grandparents? Your mum?”

“Never really spent much time with my grandparents. Or my parents for that matter. They were very much of the ‘children should be seen and not heard’ ilk. Unfortunately blue-blooded. The kitchen staff taught me how to bake and I went from there. I took a joint music and business degree; my father still refuses to speak to me.”

“But Wanderlust is so successful.” After Ciri’s questioning as to why he was getting meal deals from Tesco rather than going to Wanderlust, Gweld had tried the café over the road and never looked back. Indeed, it was a bloody good job he worked out of a gym considering the amount of cake he had started eating.

“Success means nothing. I was supposed to have a career in the City. Finance and all that shit.”

“I was supposed to have a career in the military. Sometimes we’re not supposed to have the career that’s planned for us.”

“I’ll drink to that. But, you know, if you ever want to share your nana’s recipes, I’ll gladly take them.”

As Jaskier waved a hand and wandered off to talk to Triss, Gweld couldn’t help but think that his nana would have loved this place – and Jaskier – and, considering that most of Gweld’s own siblings, cousins and niblings didn’t have much interest in them or the ability to use them, she would probably approve of her recipes being used in Wanderlust.

There was also the fact that Gweld’s nana had always had a wicked streak so she would probably approve of the fact that Jaskier was in a relationship with both Geralt and Eskel. And make numerous inappropriate comments, no doubt.

~*~

“It’s never happened to me before,” Gweld lamented to Coën, Geralt, Eskel and Lambert over a beer or three at the Skellige. “I’ve treated so many attractive men and women over the years and I’ve never had this problem before. She introduced herself and that was it. I could barely introduce myself, let alone get through the consultation part of the appointment. It’s a fucking miracle that I didn’t stab her with the acupuncture needles.”

“What’s her name?”

“Maeve. She’s just started working at the university. I think I'm in love.”

There was a pause and then Lambert broke it, slapping the table with his hand as he snorted beer over the table. “Yep, he’s definitely a wolf.

Knew we made the right decision when we hired you.”

There were mutters of agreement and chuckles from around the table except from Gweld.

“Huh?” Gweld looked confused at Lambert’s words. “What do you mean? I thought you hired me because I was the best?”

“That and the fact that we knew you’d fit in. The fact that you didn’t run away the first time you found these fuckers and Buttercup shagging in the store cupboard was the first sign. Buttercup’s birthday cake was the second. This is definitive proof that you’re one of us.”

“The fact that I was incapable of speaking to a pretty woman?”

“More like the fact that it’s a Kaer Morhen tradition to make an arse of yourself in front of the person that you’re in love with.”

“That sounds as though there are stories there…”

Geralt groaned at Eskel’s words, “I need more beer for this.”

“Get us all another round in, why don’t you. It’ll help with the embarrassment.”

Coën chuckled and leant forward, eager to share the gossip. “Well, Eskel was the most similar to you. He saw Jaskier face to face and was struck dumb; completely unable to talk or answer any sort of question.”

“Chocolate?” Lambert said the word almost mockingly, a particularly dumb expression on his face.

Eskel shoved him hard enough that Lambert all but fell out of his seat. “Fuck off, arsehole. At least I didn’t do a Geralt.”

“Which proves that Buttercup is a fucking saint when faced with our arse of a brother.”

“What did Geralt do?” Gweld was agog.

“A typical Geralt reaction; he looked at Jas and said ‘hmmm’. Our Songbird is just able to look past the exterior.”

Geralt returned from the bar with a fresh round, “have we finished being amused at my expense? Can we all rip the piss out of Lambert instead?”

“Why? What did Lambert do? Was it better than you two?”

“Tripped over mid-air. Threw coffee over himself. Forgot his own name. Thirsted over Aiden.”

“I did not!”

“You did fucking too,” Coën was clearly enjoying himself. “I was the one who introduced you! you might have thought you said his name, pretty sure you just said words about his shoulders and his hands that made no sense.”

Lambert’s head made contact with the table more than once, “Fuck. My. Life.”

Gweld choked back his laughter and patted the man on the back, “I can’t think of better company to be in.”


	16. I Want To Do Bad Things To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we return to Aiden and Lambert's relationship a little bit further down the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we all know what - or rather, who - is responsible for inspiring a certain part of this chapter.

In his defence, Lambert was trying to listen to what Aiden was saying. He was really trying. It was just bloody impossible. Especially with Aiden doing his best Naked Chef impersonation which was, quite frankly, excellent. They’d just about managed to pull themselves from bed after round three of reunion sex, mostly because they needed sustenance if they were going to keep going rather from actual hunger for food rather than each other.

Not that the hunger for each other had diminished.

Having turned down roughly 90% of his usual teaching gigs over the summer to woo Lambert as he had promised, Aiden had been away for the last month with work that he couldn’t turn down. Lambert completely understood why he had gone, but he had missed Aiden more than he had expected. Enough that it had confirmed that Aiden was the one for him. This was it for Lambert.

True love and all of that bollocks.

Everything that Lambert assumed had passed him by.

The whole relationship with Aiden had been a revelation from beginning to end.

Lambert had been sceptical as to whether things would work with Aiden, especially given his previous relationships. Yet, even from that first date, Aiden had been convinced and determined that things would work. Had refused to consider any other possibility. He kept insisting that Lambert hadn’t been treated as he should have been and was determined to change that; something that he had done and more. Not even Lambert giving him the details about Berengar and Keira on their third date had changed Aiden’s mind, something that Lambert had been worried about.

The summer had been bliss. There had been public dates and private dates. Dinners out and dinners that Lambert had later discovered Aiden had cooked. Nights out dancing at Cintra and evenings sat at home on the sofa. Some evenings spent cuddling and others, okay most of them, filled with smoking hot sex. But then, the new academic term had started and, with it, all of Aiden’s obligations which included a three weeklong dig in Malta.

The amount that Lambert had missed Aiden was the only excuse that he had for the events of that morning. Well, not the only excuse but that was the one that he was going with.

_***FLASHBACK***_

Lambert and Vesemir tended to take the opening shifts at Kaer Morhen. Vesemir because he was an early bird anyway, even if it was also an ingrained habit after years in the army and then years running Kaer Morhen and Lambert because he was angling to take over the business. Geralt ran a couple of early yoga classes but he tended to take over closing Kaer Morhen with Eskel. That wasn’t to say that Lambert liked the opening shift but with decent coffee courtesy of Buttercup, they were bearable.

There were never that many people in as soon as they opened anyway, which made things slightly more bearable. Even better, it was one of the mornings that Letho didn't come in which meant Lambert didn’t have to see his face or know that he was spending his entire workout muttering rude comments about Lambert and his brothers. Lambert plugged his phone into the dock and got the music cranked up, blaring through the speakers as he went through the process of opening up, greeting the few people who came in for an early gym session before work. He had been there about half an hour, the caffeine finally starting to hit his bloodstream, when Geralt arrived for his early morning yoga class with a grunt of greeting, his five students trailing behind him like ducklings. 

Feeling slightly more awake, Lambert started in on looking through a couple of new applications for personal training sessions. For all that he had been unsure that his ideas to bring Kaer Morhen - and Vesemir - into the twentieth century, Lambert had been pleasantly surprised. Yeah, there had been a few people who had been unhappy about the changes but then Letho and the shitgibbons he ran with wouldn't be happy if they were given the best burger in the world, all the booze they could drink and the best fuck of their lives. They'd had to add more classes for both Eskel and Geralt, they'd both had requests for private lessons and Lambert was drowning in applications for clients. He was halfway through the second request when a voice broke his concentration.

"I'm here for my PT session."

Still mostly focused on the form in front of him, Lambert started to answer, only to register the voice halfway through. "Sorry, you must have made a mistake. We have no one booked in … Aiden?!"

"Surprise?"

Lambert all but jumped the desk to get his hands on his partner, asking his questions between kisses. "When did you get back? You're early! Fuck! It's so good to see you."

"We finished everything, so I jumped on an earlier flight. I didn't want to be away longer than I had to be."

Aiden's hands were everywhere, and Lambert loved it. Checking the main gym quickly, he saw that there were only a couple of people in, both of them ex-squaddies and guys who knew what they were doing. Geralt's class were all happy doing downward dog or whatever, so he decided to take a risk. Palming the lube and condom that he kept in the desk drawer because you never knew, he dragged Aiden in the direction of Gweld’s treatment rooms which had the closest thing to a bed and a lockable door.

“Should we be in here? Won’t Gweld mind?”

“Probably not. And Gweld won’t even know we’ve been here. You’ve been away for weeks; we’ll be done and out of here by the time that he makes it in. Now, will you just get naked and fuck me?”

Aiden did precisely that. In less than three minutes, he had them both stripped naked, the condom on his cock and two lubed fingers buried in Lambert’s arse. Clearly he had missed Lambert as much as Lambert had missed him. Still, Lambert was hungry for more and wasn’t satisfied until Aiden was buried in him. Luckily for him, Aiden had no objections and quickly had his cock buried in Lambert’s arse, thrusting steadily.

Lambert was so lost in the feel of Aiden buried in him and surrounding him, too busy moaning at the sensations that it took a few moments for him to register the cry of “What the fuck?” coming from the direction of the door. 

And yeah, he supposed that Aiden’s naked arse probably wasn’t what Gweld was expecting to see first thing in the morning. And definitely not balls deep in Lambert on Gweld’s treatment table. Lambert craned his neck so that he could see over Aiden’s shoulder, sending a cheery grin in Gweld’s direction and only just managing to avoid rolling his eyes in pleasure as Aiden nailed his prostate.

“Uh! Morning, Gweld!”

“What do you mean, morning? Why are you fucking on my treatment table?”

And yeah, maybe not Lambert’s best decision ever but, well. It had been weeks. Aiden was hot and Lambert was horny. “Well, Aiden got back early this morning and it’s been weeks since we’ve seen each other. We didn’t have time to get to his or back to the house before I had to open so…”

“So what, you decided to use my treatment room? What the hell?! I have to treat people on that bed. This is breaking so many health and safety codes, it’s untrue.”

“Do you think this is how Cahir reacted when Eskel and Buttercup fucked in the kitchens at Wanderlust?” Aiden had a wicked grin on his face as he spoke, rolling his hips in an equally wicked way that had Lambert's eyes rolling back in his skull.

“Never mind that, why are you still shagging? I’m still stood here!”

Gweld really didn't sound happy and yeah, they should probably stop but, well, "reunion sex waits for no man.”

“Officially the worst boss.” Gweld started to back out of the room, “you have 15 mins until my first client. You had better have scrubbed that table to within an inch of its life with disinfectant. And I’m telling Vesemir about this.”

He might be telling Vesemir but, quite honestly, Lambert didn’t give a shit. All he cared about was the fact that Aiden was back, that they were together. That Aiden’s cock was fucking into him.

Nothing else mattered.

And really, was Gweld walking in on him and Aiden really worse than him finding Jaskier, Geralt and Eskel in the store cupboard that time?

_***END FLASHBACK***_

Kid had told Vesemir as well. Not just about Aiden and Lambert, but the incident with Geralt, Eskel and Buttercup in the store cupboard as well. Vesemir had hauled them all into his office and given them a bollocking the likes of which they hadn't seen since they were teenagers. Coën had been in the Kaer at the time and had said that Vesemir had been shouting so loudly that those of them in the gym had heard every single word, even through a closed door and over the sound of the gym equipment.

So yeah, Lambert was probably going to have to apologise to Gweld. Scratch that, he was definitely going to have to apologise to Gweld. They all were. Kid was one of them now. As Vesemir had pointed out, they had picked him for a reason and he had turned out to be a better fit than they had thought. Not to mention that the physio and sports massage side of the gym was turning out to be incredibly profitable. No, they weren't going to lose Gweld because they couldn't keep their cocks in their pants. So, an apology it was.

“Am I boring you, Kitten?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re miles away, kitten. Am I boring you? Is all this not enough to keep you occupied?” As he spoke, Aiden did a little shimmy, drawing Lambert’s attention to his utterly perfect – and utterly naked – arse.

Lambert gave a bark of laughter, “considering that we haven’t left bed since we got home after Vesemir’s bollocking, I think you knew perfectly well that all that is more than enough to keep me occupied. If you must know, I was distracted thinking about your cock.”

Aiden preened, like a cat that had got the cream. “Well, I’m not surprised; it’s a perfect specimen.”

“So modest. Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I had a question to ask you.”

“And what’s that?”

“We have a big university dinner coming up that I have to attend. Attendance is non-negotiable if I want to keep my job. I was wondering if you’d be willing to come with me as my plus one.”

“You want me to be your plus one? To an event at the university?”

“I believe that’s what I said.”

“And you thought that now was a good time to ask me? When you were naked?”

“Is there any other time to ask you?”

Lambert cocked his head, “fair point. Are you really sure that you want me to come? I mean, it sounds kind of formal and I’m not really good at that kind of thing…”

“You’ll be absolutely fine. Look, most of the guests will be professors who barely leave their offices. I can pretty much guarantee that they’re worse at socialising than you are. Come on, just say yes. It might not be your scene, but I want to show you off. Just once.”

“Just once?”

“Once.”

Lambert considered it. Obviously, he had done formal dinners as a squaddie in the Army and then as a Marine, but they had never been his favourite thing. Then again, surely this would be different. He narrowed his eyes at Aiden, “blow me in the main hall and fuck me in your office across your desk and we have a deal.”

“Done.”

~*~

Dinner at the university. That wasn’t such a big deal, right? A nice shirt, decent pair of trousers, actually run a brush through his hair and use some of that beard oil Coën gave him.

Apparently, yes it was because Lambert was incapable of producing just those few items.

“Fuck, fuck, fucking cock.” Lambert flipped through his meagre wardrobe, rejecting one item of clothing after another with a definite feeling of déjà vu from not only his first date with Aiden but Eskel’s with Buttercup. “Nope, no, definitely not. Hell no.” He had been dating Aiden for months now … why was this such a complicated issue? He and Aiden had been on a multitude of dates so why did his wardrobe feel so miniscule and sub-par?

Lambert threw three shirts on the floor. All of them black, navy blue or charcoal grey. None of them acceptable for dinner at the university. “Are you fucking shitting me?”

“Problems, lambchop?”

Lambert sent a two-fingered salute over his shoulder at his bastard brothers. It may have been Eskel who spoke but, where Eskel went, Geralt followed. Knowing his bad luck, Buttercup would be there as well given how the three of them were joined at the hip. “Don’t sodding call me lambchop. And yes. Why do I not have any clothes that aren’t morbid colours or Kaer Morhen training gear?”

“Because you haven’t needed them before? What’s so important that none of those shirts is good enough?”

“Some fancy dinner at the university. Aiden wants to take me as his plus one.”

“Aiden wants to take you to an event where you have to be sociable and act like a human being? Are you sure he didn’t slip on the dig and hit his head?”

“Piss off, Geralt.” Lambert discarded another shirt and refused to let his traitorous brain agree with what Geralt was saying, even if it was only intended as a joke.

“Looks like you’re going to have to go clothes shopping.”

“Ciri? What? Why?”

Ciri had apparently materialised at some point and waved her phone at Lambert from where she was sprawled on his bed. “I’ve just checked the uni events page and this is listed. Aiden is actually listed by name as being one of the guests of honour.”

“So what? It’s Aiden who’ll be the guest of honour, not me. I just need to get a decent suit. Any maybe a tie. That’s like, what? A trip to Topman?”

“Topman isn’t going to do it, Lambchop.” Eskel spoke from where he was looking at Ciri’s phone, “Aiden may be the guest of honour, but I think this is going to be a tux job for you.”

“Then I’ll hire one. I can do that, right? Or is that something that just happens in movies?”

“Couldn’t you wear your dress uniform, Uncle Lambert?”

Lambert winced. Ciri still didn’t know why he had left the Marines and he wanted it to stay that way for as long as possible, if not forever. It didn’t matter how many times his brothers, dad and Jaskier told him that he was being ridiculous and that he shouldn’t be ashamed, Lambert couldn’t bring himself to tell his niece. Luckily for him, Geralt stepped in. Turns out the bastard could use his words when he needed to.

“Not for this, cub. Dress uniform is normally saved for more formal occasions than a dinner. Big occasions.”

The glint in Ciri’s eye told them all that her papa had walked straight into this one, “like a wedding?”

As Geralt choked and Eskel turned a rather interesting colour, Ciri waved her phone at a speechless Lambert. “Don’t worry, Uncle Lambert. I’ve got things under control.”

(~*~)

Ciri did indeed have everything under control. Two days later, Lambert was manning the main reception desk when Jaskier and Yennefer strolled in. Yennefer was in her usual glamorous all black attire while Jaskier was casual with a smudge of flour across one cheek. Lambert looked up from the computer and the schedule of appointments and classes with a grin.

“Well, well, well. What’s this? You two aren’t usually here at this time. Have you finally received that I’m the best prospect Kaer Morhen has to offer and come to sign up with my PT sessions rather than Geralt’s yoga classes?”

“Not quite. We’re under control.”

“What?” Lambert’s face took on a look of even greater confusion. “You’re under control? You two are never under control.”

Jaskier waved his phone, “Ciri called us in. she said you needed our expertise.”

“Expertise at what?”

“Get your things, lambchop; we’re going shopping.”

“Oh no you fucking don’t, Buttercup. Don’t you dare start calling me that.”

“Then you’d better get your arse out from behind that desk and into Yennefer’s car, hadn’t you? unless you’re planning on being Aiden’s plus one in a Kaer Morhen branded tank top and sweats?”

Lambert looked torn, “I’m on the desk though, I can’t just leave. Some of us don’t abandon our businesses in the middle of the day.”

“Lucky for you I’m here then, isn’t it lad?” Vesemir appeared from the back, “go on, get. Melitele knows, you need all the help you can get.”

Lambert made noises of outrage as he was shepherded out of Kaer Morhen that then proceeded to morph into coos of delight when he saw Yennefer’s car, much to the amusement of both Jaskier and Yennefer.

“When you’ve quite finished molesting my car, puppy,” Yennefer drawled out as she opened her car door and shooed Jaskier into the back seat, letting Lambert take the passenger seat where he could fawn over the car. As soon as he shut the door, Yennefer revved the engine and shot off, Lambert’s head all but bouncing off the headrest with the swift acceleration.

Lambert couldn’t remember the last time that he had been clothes shopping. In all probability, it had been back when he was dating Keira. He had hated it then and he didn’t expect now to be any different. The only good thing that Lambert could see was that they weren’t heading in the direction of the fuck-off huge shopping centre about 5 miles away. Instead, they headed in the opposite direction to the university and towards the main high street that had not quite as many shops as the centre, but still a decent selection. 

Yennefer did some nifty outmanoeuvring of someone in a huge Range Rover and did a swift parallel park, fitting her convertible smoothly into the only free space. Getting out of the car, Lambert started to walk down the road, only to be hauled back by Jaskier’s hand on his arm. He was then prodded towards the entrance of a shop. A shop that had darkened windows and the name discretely embossed in gold. A shop that screamed as to how expensive the clothes it stocked were.

"No, no, no, no, fuck no. Why are we going in here? Topman is down there."

"You're not getting a suit from Topman, Lambert."

"Burton, then. I've heard of them. They do okay suits. There’s one two doors down from Topman."

"Burton is okay if you are a sixteen year old, puppy. Okay is not good enough for this kind of event. Okay is unacceptable for Aiden."

"But that looks like somewhere you would shop. That's expensive."

"Yet I never look anything but flawless. Move your arse, puppy. We’re going in here."

"But…" Lambert dug his heels in.

Yennefer rolled her eyes. "How much simpler do I have to make things? Your boyfriend is a big name in academic circles. Not just in academic circles. He deserves the very best. You wearing a suit from Topman? That is not the very best. Now, move your arse before I move it for you because I guarantee, whilst I may enjoy it, you won't."

“That may be so,” Lambert hissed out from between gritted teeth, “but I can’t afford shopping somewhere like this.”

“Do you ever look at the books for Kaer Morhen?”

“No?” Lambert definitely resembled a confused puppy, “that’s what we pay Vilgefortz for.”

“Then do you not check your bank account?”

“No?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, what is there in the water at Kaer Morhen that makes you particularly stupid about things?”

“Insulting me isn’t exactly going to help get me into the shop, Yennefer.”

“You have more than enough money to buy one suit and the relevant accessories, puppy. Even from here. Now get a move on. As amusing as this is going to be, I do have other things to do today.”

“Bathing in the blood of young virgins, sacrificing new-born babies…” Lambert attempted to mutter under his breath, but he wasn’t quiet enough, or quick enough to dodge the slap Yennefer sent his way.

“In. Now.”

Two hours later and Lambert was wishing that he was anywhere but here. Hell, being in a warzone was preferable to this. Jaskier was like a magpie, constantly getting distracted by something shiny and flitting off to look at it or try it on, leaving Lambert to the tender mercies of Yennefer. She was completely and utterly ruthless. 

It didn’t take long for Lambert to lose count of the number of suits he had tried on. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the suits that he was trying on were a cut above those sold by either Topman or Burton. He was still trying not to hyperventilate at the price though. He had tried on more than one suit that would have been more than acceptable, yet Yennefer seemed to find problems with all of them. The cut was wrong, or the colour of the shirt didn’t work with his skin tone.

It was all exhausting.

Finally, after what seemed like far too long, Yennefer nodded her approval to one tuxedo. if he was being completely honest, Lambert didn’t see the difference between this suit and the sixty that he had already tried on. The tuxedo itself was nothing new, the shirt was a plain white and the accessories matched perfectly.

Lambert looked good and he knew it.

Judging from the wolf-whistles and approving glances from Jaskier and Yennefer, they also agreed. Hopefully, Aiden felt the same. Hopefully Lambert didn’t die of a heart attack when he saw the price tag or all of this would have been for nothing.

~*~

“What do you mean, you’re going away?”

This was not the news that Lambert had wanted to return home to. It had been a shit day at Kaer Morhen; one of the newbies in the gym had dropped one of the free weights on their foot, there had been an accident in one of Eskel’s boxing classes meaning that he had had to take a student to A&E with a suspected concussion and they had had to Vesemir in to have a discrete word with one of the women from Geralt’s yoga classes who was showing a little bit too much interest in him. All Lambert had wanted to do was to get home, change out of his sweaty gym gear, shower, have dinner and spend the evening cuddled up with Aiden. It wasn’t to discover Aiden packing for yet another trip away. And yes, he was also ignoring the fact that he had a tendency to refer to Aiden’s rather luxurious flat as home.

“You know that guy who presents the archaeology programmes on the History channel? The older man?”

“The one that I always say is an arsehole?”

“That’s the one,” Aiden called from the bathroom where he was emptying a myriad of products into his washbag. “Turns out, he really is an arsehole. He made a bunch of comments that were racist, xenophobic, misogynistic, homophobic … you name it, he probably said it. The channel needs somebody to cover a couple of episodes and they’ve asked me to fill in.”

“That’s fantastic, congratulations.” Even as he said the words, Lambert knew that they had fallen flat. He was happy for Aiden, he really was. He just wished that the opportunity didn’t require Aiden to go away.

“You don’t sound happy…” Aiden materialised in the doorway of the bathroom. “In fact, you sound the opposite.”

Lambert attempted to force a smile to his face. “I’m sorry. I really am pleased for you … I just wish that you weren’t going away already. It feels like I only just got you back.”

“I’m sorry, kitten. I completely understand but it’s just for a couple of nights, no more. I promise.”

“Hmmm,” Lambert wasn’t convinced. With Aiden still in the bathroom, he stripped out of the sweaty Kaer Morhen branded training gear that he wore at work and slumped onto the chair that Aiden kept in the corner of his bedroom in nothing but his black boxers. His day just kept going from bad to worse. Now it completely fucking sucked. He looked up at the sound of a low groan from Aiden.

“Are you okay?”

“Yup. Fine. All good. Can you just stay there for like one minute while I get my phone?”

“Why?” Lambert looked confused as Aiden crossed the room to grab his phone. “Why do you need your phone?”

“Do you have any idea how fucking ridiculously attractive you look right now? I swear, if I had ovaries, they would have just exploded.”

“What does that have to do with you grabbing your phone?”

“I want to take some pictures. Of you.”

“Why?”

“So I have something for my spank bank? Why do you think? So? Can I?”

Lambert ducked his head, “I suppose so?” He deliberately didn’t look at the camera while Aiden took the photos, ducking his head and letting his hair hide his face. After what felt like forever, he raised his head, hands braced on the chair between his legs. “You done yet?”

“Just about. Why? Is there something you wanted?”

“Yes, actually. Seeing as you’re abandoning me, I want a night of fucking.”

“Well, that can certainly be arranged. Top or bottom, kitten?”

“Top.”

(~*~)

Honestly, Lambert had assumed that Aiden had forgotten about the photos that he had taken. Or, rather, he had hoped he had. Lambert had seen them and, honestly, couldn’t understand what Aiden liked so much about them. All Lambert could see were the flaws. The scars. The riot of curls. The belly rolls. None of it struck him as being particularly attractive. So, to say that he was surprised to receive a text from Aiden was an understatement.

_Looking at those photos I took of you. You’re so fucking sexy and I’m so turned on. FaceTime?_

Lambert immediately hit the call function on his phone and was immediately greeted by a naked Aiden lazily stroking his cock. “Are you kidding me?”

“How do you feel about phone sex, kitten?”

“Fuuuuuuuck.”

Lambert didn’t think he had stripped as quickly in his life. And that included that time in Gweld’s office. And okay, so it wasn’t as good over an internet connection on a phone and no dildo was ever going to be as good as Aiden but, phone sex? Yeah, they were definitely doing that again when Aiden was away on digs or just whenever they weren’t spending the night together.

~*~

Somehow, the university dinner wasn’t as bad as Lambert had expected. Yes, Lambert felt like a complete and utter arse in the tuxedo, but Aiden was wearing one as well underneath his robes and that made Lambert feel a bit better. There was also the fact that Aiden had managed less than ten minutes before he fucked Lambert, apparently unable to resist the sight of Lambert in his gear. Lambert still wasn’t sure about the whole formal dinner thing, though. Was that what lay ahead of him? Endless dinners because he was the plus one of a popular professor? At least there were plenty of spaces where they could sneak away for a fuck.

The actual dinner sucked because, rather than being seated with Aiden, Lambert had been placed with a bunch of snotty-nosed old professors. As well as with a Maeve. Okay, so it hadn’t sucked. Not completely. Entirely because of Maeve. Turned out she was that Maeve.

_The Maeve._

Gweld’s Maeve.

The one that Gweld was completely hung up on. His client. Apparently, Lambert’s evening had become more interesting. Women weren’t really his thing, but he could see why Gweld liked her. She was smart and funny and interesting. She definitely seemed interesting enough and, yes, Lambert could understand Gweld’s interest in her. Judging by her conversation, she was also interested in Gweld. More than interested. However, Lambert had more pressing concerns than playing matchmaker.

Concerns that would make this evening considerably better.

“I believe you owe me a blowjob in the main hall…”

“That I do, kitten. Shall we go? Most of the attendees should be in the anterooms again by now… I think you definitely deserve a reward.”


	17. This Is The Greatest Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaskier has a decision to make and Essi makes a reappearance.

“I’m not sure, Essi. I mean, I know exactly why you thought of it but I’m just not 100% convinced that it’s the best idea.”

Geralt and Eskel hadn’t intended to eavesdrop. Far from it. They had actually come into Wanderlust to hopefully catch Jaskier at the end of his prep for the following day and surprise him with dinner out. However, they had heard him talking and now they were frozen, worried that if they movemed they would make a noise and be caught out. There was something not quire right about the tone of Jaskier’s voice, not usual for a phone call with Essi. They still hadn’t met her bar being introduced over video call, but they knew that Jaskier was usually happy and upbeat when they were able to catch up. Not tense as he sounded now. There was silence for a while other than the occasional sound of Jaskier moving around the kitchen while he obviously listened to Essi speak. After what seemed like a rather long time, there was an audible sigh from the kitchen before Jaskier spoke again.

“Look, this isn’t something that I can just agree to immediately. It’s a big decision and it wouldn’t just involve me. Yes, I am the boss, but it isn’t that simple, Essi. No, I’m not saying no straight away. Melitele’s tits, Essi! I love you but will you please stop putting words in my mouth?”

Eskel and Geralt exchanged surprised looks at the outburst, most uncharacteristic for their lover and were even more curious as to what could have prompted it. One thing was for certain, they were pretty damn sure that they were one of the things that would be involved in Jaskier’s decision. The only thing was, they couldn’t think of anything that could possibly involve both themselves and Essi.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier’s voice was more subdued now. “Like I said, I’m not saying no but, equally, i can’t say yes yet. Let me think about it and I’ll give you an answer by the end of the week, okay? Love you, Essi.”

There was silence for about a minute before Jaskier started humming as he moved around the kitchen, but it was more reflective than his usual upbeat choices. Having a conversation with their eyebrows, Geralt and Eskel made their way back to the front door and opened it, this time shutting it loudly enough to give Jaskier time to sort himself out. As they had expected, by the time that they made it to the kitchen door, Jaskier was there with a bright smile and a kiss, tension around his eyes the only sign of the conversation they had overheard.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise. What are you two doing here? Have I forgotten something?”

In the days following Jaskier’s realisation that Ciri had been – neglected was the wrong word, but not quite given as much time and attention as she deserved while they sorted their shit out – decisions had been made by the three of them and a somewhat crude schedule had been drawn up. Every week, they had specified date nights. Both in pairs – Eskel and Jaskier, Eskel and Geralt, Geralt and Jaskier – and as a threesome. They also had one night a week that was spent specifically with Ciri. The other nights were often spent together but had no set pattern and were often split between late nights working at Kaer Morhen and Wanderlust and just spending time together, not doing anything in particular.

“Not in the slightest, we wanted to surprise you. We thought dinner? At the Rosemary and Thyme; Zoltan has a table ready and waiting for us.”

“The evening just gets better and better,” Jaskier’s tone was light but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Are you okay to wait while I just finish up? Five minutes, ten at the most.”

“I think we can manage that.”

The problem was, despite Eskel and Geralt’s best efforts or the fact that the food and drink was excellent and Zoltan’s hosting impeccable, the tension around Jaskier’s eyes didn’t dissipate during dinner. No matter what subject they brought the conversation around to, no matter how many kisses they bestowed upon him. It didn’t disappear despite multiple messages from Ciri or Lambert.

That didn’t change once they returned home.

It didn’t disappear despite the many kisses and caresses bestowed upon Jaskier by both men in bed that evening. Oh, he was responsive enough, but he didn’t relax.

Not that night or for the next two days.

Despite all of their attempts, Jaskier was still tense. He responded to conversations but was strangely distant and didn't initiate anything himself. Even the regulars at Wanderlust noticed that things were not as they usually were given that he spent most of the opening hours in the kitchen rather than in the main cafe area, even during the morning hours that Cahir worked. It didn’t disappear with a multitude of bear hugs from Ciri. Instead, they found Jaskier choosing to spend nights by himself in his flat above Wanderlust, avoiding his phone like the plague.

It wasn’t right. They missed their bubbly, happy lover. Eskel’s songbird, Geralt’s lark. They missed seeing him in Wanderlust and Kaer Morhen, they missed him in their bed. This shade wasn’t who they had fallen in love with.

Eskel and Geralt desperately wanted to say something, anything to get their Jaskier back, but they weren’t sure how to broach the subject. At least, not without causing more problems. Luckily for them, Yennefer was more than willing to stage an intervention. Halfway through the second day of Jaskier not being his usual bubbly self, Yennefer sent out a group message.

_Coën’s. 7pm tonight. Don’t tell Jaskier._

Hopefully, they could get to the bottom of all this. And quickly because an unhappy Jaskier was not something that they wanted.

They wanted their Jaskier back.

(~*~)

“This is so exciting. Secret meetings and all that; I feel like I’m a badass spy in a film or something,” Ciri bounced inside Coën’s flat as he opened the door for her, Geralt and Eskel to step inside.

“Pretty sure that assassins or spies don’t bounce, cub, however badass they are.”

“Who said anything about assassins, papa?” Ciri rolled her eyes at Geralt as she bumped fists with Coën.

“I’d say we’re more like a war council,” Eskel offered up, just as Lambert and Aiden slipped through the door mere minutes behind them.

“Do war councils sneak around? Are we 100% sure Buttercup won’t see us? Where is he tonight?”

“He’s at Aretuza with Triss,” Yennefer spoke from where she still managed to look glamorous perched on one of Coën’s battered armchairs, “she’s going to see what information she can glean from him.”

“Are we waiting for anyone else? Vesemir?”

“He’s closing Kaer Morhen; we’ll fill him in when we get home. What about Gweld? I could have sworn he left before we did.”

“I’m here,” Gweld emerged from the little kitchen with a tray of what smelled like freshly baked cookies. “Irrespective of what we are - assassins, spies or war council - I figured we needed sustenance.”

“Can we just get on with this so that Jaskier doesn’t get home before us and get suspicious?” Geralt grumbled, not even mollified as Eskel tugged him down onto a rather saggy sofa, fishing several books out from underneath them and tossing one to Lil’ Bleater. Ciri sank down onto the floor at their feet, fighting her Uncle Lambert for a huge handful of Gweld’s cookies.

Yennefer wasted no time in getting started with the order of business, somehow managing to demolish a cookie while simultaneously remaining graceful. “Now, has Jaskier said _anything_ to any of you at all? Geralt? Eskel? Anything?”

The two of them shook their heads, “he’s quiet and distracted all the time. He’s hardly singing at the moment, but whenever we ask him what’s wrong, he denies anything and everything. Only thing we know is that he was speaking to Essi about something. A big decision.”

Lambert spoke up, crumbs scattering everywhere as he spoke with a mouthful of cookies. “It’s like he was before the three of you got your act together. It’s weird and I don’t like it.”

“Coën? Gweld?”

The two exchanged glances and then shook their heads, Coën speaking up first. “Nothing. I agree with Lambert. Jaskier is not acting like himself.”

“I mean, I haven’t known him long, but he is definitely not acting the same as when I first met him. I’m afraid I can’t be of more help than that,” Gweld shrugged apologetically.

There was a long pause before Ciri spoke up from where she was unashamedly letting Bleater lick the cookie crumbs from her fingers. “Jas hasn’t said anything to me, but Essi has been messaging me quite a lot recently.”

“ _Ciri…”_ Geralt’s voice held a warning tone, “I thought we talked about this.”

“No, you talked at me. You said that I needed to be careful when I was using social media, but you didn’t actually ban me from using it and I’m being sensible about it, I promise. Everything is private and I don’t give out any private or personal information. Besides, it’s _Essi._ She’s Jas’ best friend.”

“But your Uncle Eskel and I don’t know her, cub.”

“Are you saying that you don’t trust Jas?”

“You know that’s not what I’m saying, cub. I’m your Papa. I’m allowed to be concerned about you talking to an adult that I’ve never met before.”

“Not to brush your concerns aside, Geralt but we’re here to sort out Jaskier. You can wrangle this menace later. Now we at least know that Essi is involved in this. Ciri, you need to be as specific as you can and, if you’re willing, you need to show us the messages that Essi has sent you.”

Ciri nodded, pulling out her phone. The lock screen featured an image of Ciri and Dara hugging and pulling faces for the camera but when she typed in the PIN and the home screen appeared, it showed an image that had even Geralt’s face softening slightly. It was a photo that had been taken at Kaer Morhen and, judging by the composition of the shot, had been taken by Aiden or Lambert one film night. In it, Ciri and Jaskier were sat in between Eskel and Geralt. Or, at least, that had been the intention. In actuality, they were sprawled over them, Lil’ Bleater held firmly in the circle of Ciri’s arms licking Jaskier’s face while Geralt and Eskel looked on, fond smiles softening their expression. And then Ciri was clicking away from the home screen, navigating through to an app and bringing up her conversation with Essi.

“Here. Look.” Ciri handed her phone backwards to her papa, Eskel leaning close to read over Geralt’s shoulder.

The messages were definitely on the cryptic side. Essi was clearly taking great pains not to divulge anything in case Jaskier hadn’t said anything. Instead, she was talking about a great opportunity and how she hoped that she would get to meet Ciri one day soon. She was constantly asking about Jaskier, if he was okay, if he had mentioned Essi, how he was seeming. When they had finished reading the messages, Geralt handed the phone back to Ciri and spoke up.

“We overheard part of a conversation between Jaskier and Essi a couple of days ago. Obviously, we only heard half the conversation but what we heard implies that Essi wants Jaskier to maybe participate in a performance but Jaskier isn’t convinced yet. Whatever it is, it’s weighing on him a lot.”

“Well, what are you going to do about it? Melitele knows how you two are feeling if I’m finding the puppy’s sad face exasperating.”

“In the conversation we overheard, he asked Essi to give him until the end of the week. There’s still one more day left. If he hasn’t said anything to us by then, we’ll broach the subject.”

“Fine. But if you don’t, then I will. And I don’t need to be nice to him; I’m not the one fucking him.”

(~*~)

Despite the fact that Jaskier had returned from his evening with Triss looking less stressed and tense than he had been, it was still another day before he finally spoke to them. The same day that Geralt and Eskel knew was Jaskier’s self-imposed deadline to speak to Essi. The day that they had promised Yennefer they would broach the subject with Jaskier, if he hadn’t done so himself.

It was pack night at Kaer Morhen, something that had now expanded since it’s first incarnation when Geralt and Eskel were teens. Obviously present were the whole of the Kaer Morhen family but also Jaskier, Aiden and Gweld. There had been a large group dinner that Vesemir had been in charge of, while Aiden and Lambert had been tasked with selecting the movie for them all to watch. They were just about to move through to watch the selection when Jaskier had awkwardly cleared his throat.

“I, umm, well, I have something that I need to speak to you about.”

Vesemir set the popcorn in the microwave before heading back to the table, “well? Spit it out, lad.”

“Essi has asked if she can have the launch party for her CD here. Well, at Wanderlust. She didn’t want to do a central London launch and, as she wants me to sing on a couple of tracks, I suppose it made sense to her. I told her that I couldn’t say yes immediately, that it was a big decision and I wasn’t the only person involved.”

Lambert broke the silence first, “that’s it? Seriously?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I think what Kitten is trying to say is that we were expecting something more serious from the way that you’ve been acting.”

Jaskier blinked in confusion, “but, this is serious. Essi is starting to make a name for herself in London. A big name. If she holds her CD launch here, then that means reviewers and people from newspapers. People that could genuinely disrupt both Kaer Morhen and Wanderlust. People that could make life miserable for all of us.”

“You underestimate what we can stand.”

“There’s nothing there that we can’t deal with, Jaskier.”

“You say that now … none of you have had to deal with Essi before.”

“No, but we’ve dealt with a lot of other stuff before,” Vesemir’s gruff voice rang out as law. “Say yes to her, Jaskier. We’ve dealt with warzones before, one little songstress will be no problem.”

As they watched the film – some animated thing that Ciri and Lambert seemed far too invested in – a happy, affectionate, back to usual Jaskier sprawled across their laps, Geralt and Eskel shared a glance hoping that Vesemir’s words weren’t asking for trouble in the future.

~*~

Jaskier had worried about Essi meeting the new people in his life. For the three years that they had been at university, she had been his everything when he had been first estranged from his family. He had been a little worried in the first place that she might feel like she was being replaced. That wasn’t the case, of course, but feelings weren’t exactly rational. They may no longer be living in each other’s pockets, but that didn’t mean that her opinion didn’t matter. Jaskier wanted Essi to like Eskel and Geralt, he wanted her to approve of them. He didn’t want to think about the position he could be in if she didn’t approve of them. Jaskier didn’t know what he would do if he had to choose between them. He was sure that wouldn’t be the case but, even so, he couldn’t help that little tendril of fear. He had no such fears with Ciri; he had already seen that they got on like a house on fire. He was afraid of Essi meeting Yennefer, but that was for entirely different reasons. 

Essi arrived in the middle of the afternoon, a flurry of bright colours and a mass of blonde hair. She smothered Jaskier in hugs, exclaimed loudly over Café Wanderlust and how the photos didn’t do it justice and introduced herself to a rather stunned Istredd. Only then did she allow Jaskier to sweep her upstairs into the privacy of his flat where they ensconced themselves on his couch with coffee and cake and proceeded to gossip the afternoon away.

They were still there several hours later when Eskel and Geralt let themselves in. 

Essi ran an appraising eye over the two of them and Jaskier was a little amazed to see them squirm, just a little. 

“Hmm, the Norse god and the other one. You and I need to have a word or six. Jas, can you go and make us all some drinks?” 

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea…” 

“Nonsense. We’ll be absolutely fine, won’t we gentlemen?” 

Eskel and Geralt shot looks at Jaskier that were ever so slightly wide-eyed with panic but Essi shooed Jaskier away. He felt bad about it, but Jaskier couldn’t deny that there was something amusing about two former Royal Marines getting the ‘you hurt him and I’ll bury you’ talk from a five foot nothing blonde slip of a woman. 

He was gone all of fifteen minutes but, when he returned to the living room, Essi was looking exceptionally smug with herself and he didn’t think that he had seen that facial expression on either of his lovers before. 

“Everything okay here?” 

“Everything is absolutely fine, I think we all understand each other. Congratulations, Jas. You’ve picked yourself some good ones here. Certainly a damn sight better than some of your previous choices. Now, where’s the bathroom? I’m in dire need of a shower after the journey.” 

Jaskier did as he was told, showing Essi the guest bedroom that she would be using and the bathroom before he came back to his lovers. He cupped their cheeks and pressed careful kisses to them, “are you two okay?” 

“You have a truly fierce creature in your corner, Songbird.” 

“She is never allowed to meet Yennefer, lark. It bodes badly for all of us.” 

“From your words to Melitele’s ears, love. Somehow, though, I think that’s out of our control.” 

(~*~)

That night, they all went for dinner at The Skellige, Jaskier having booked a table for himself, Eskel, Geralt and Ciri while Essi had given her talk that afternoon. He came to a grinding halt as he walked through the door and saw a much bigger table than the one that he had booked, four familiar faces sat waiting. Walking over to them, Jaskier pressed a kiss to Triss’ cheek and accepted her mouthed ‘sorry’ with a wry smile. 

“I don’t remember inviting you lot.” 

“And your forgetfulness is precisely why I took it upon myself to phone ahead and amend the booking.” Yennefer proffered her cheek with an arched eyebrow, Jaskier dropping a quick kiss to it. “You’re slacking puppy, you haven’t introduced your guest to us.” 

Yep, this was the biggest mistake in the history of mistakes. Nothing good was going to come of this. 

“Essi, this is Lambert, Eskel and Geralt’s brother and his partner, Aiden. He’s a well-known archaeologist; I don’t know if you’ve maybe seen him on TV…” 

“I’m a mostly out of work musician, Jas. I watch plenty of tv so I know exactly who Aiden is. It’s a pleasure to meet you. And you, Lambert. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Yennefer cleared her throat, leaving Jaskier scrambling. “Sorry, and this is Yennefer and her girlfriend, Triss.” 

The smile that curled Yennefer’s lips was that of the cat that had got the cream, the tuna and the roast chicken. This was definitely a bad idea for Jaskier. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Essi. We’ve heard so much about you and I’m sure that you’ve got plenty of tales about Jaskier that you could regale us with.” 

“Oh, of course. But only if you share the most recent ones in return. I’m convinced that he only tells me half the stories.” 

“Essi, Yennefer…” 

“Hush, puppy. Your lovers are waiting for you… now, shoo.” 

Jaskier slid into his seat between Eskel and Geralt, resisting the urge to bang his head on the table and instead opted for the strongest drink he could as Essi took the seat Yennefer offered. 

“Just kill me now. Please. This isn’t going to end well. Not in any universe.”

(~*~)

Three days after Essi’s arrival, Eskel and Geralt put their foot down. They were finally seeing why Jaskier had been concerned that this was such a big decision and that they had maybe brushed his concerns aside. Jaskier was working himself to exhaustion as he did his best to not only do all of the prep that he usually did for Wanderlust, be present on the cafe floor as always and rehearse with Essi. More than once he had practically been asleep in his dinner and he very much resembled a zombie when he woke in the mornings.

That evening, Jaskier had done a full day in Wanderlust and was finishing up all of the prep for the following day as he listened to Essi give a giggling Ciri a piano lesson when Eskel arrived in the doorway, coming up behind Jaskier and pressing a kiss to one sugar dusted cheek.

"Evening, Songbird."

"Evening, dear heart," Jaskier turned his head and pressed a kiss to one scarred cheek. "No classes tonight?"

"No, it's yoga night tonight. Geralt’s halfway through his intermediate class and then he has the beginner one after that. Are you nearly finished?"

“With the baking, yes. Then I was going to see if Essi wanted to rehearse…” Jaskier trailed off as Eskel shook his head. “What?”

"Nope. If Essi wants to rehearse, she can rehearse without you. Jas, you're exhausted. You're coming home with us to get some rest."

“But…”

“Eskel is right,” Essi’s voice came from the doorway. They hadn’t even realised that she and Ciri had stopped playing. “I’m sorry, Jask. I’ve been taking you for granted. You’ve been doing everything for the café and then rehearsing with me and it’s unfair. Go. Spend some time with those gorgeous men of yours and this one.”

“Are you sure?” There was no denying the hope in Jaskier’s voice, “I don’t want to leave you by yourself…”

“What makes you think I’ll be by myself? I’ll give Triss and Yennefer a call; they gave me their numbers the other day.”

“Just remember, don’t get into too much trouble. You’re not going to be able to do an album launch if you’re sat in jail for whatever reason.”

“Yes, mum.” Essi laughed loudly as she pressed a smacking kiss to Jaskier’s other cheek and bid farewell to Ciri and Eskel, dialling Yennefer as she wandered out of the kitchen.

“Come on, Songbird. Back to the Kaer with you. You coming, cub?”

“Yep. Can we get takeaway?”

“Why don’t you phone Temeria? Put in the usual order for us three and your papa?”

“No Uncle Lambert?”

“No, he’s at Aiden’s tonight. Might as well just move in and be done with it considering how little he’s at the Kaer right now, but there we go.”

By the time that Jaskier had finished up his prep and locked up Wanderlust, they ran into members of Geralt’s intermediate class streaming out of Kaer Morhen and knew that they had about an hour until he was back home. As soon as they were inside the mews house, Eskel directed Jaskier onto the sofa, Ciri chatting away at him without really expecting an answer, while he disappeared off to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, he shepherded Jaskier into the room, stripping him naked and ushering him into the bath.

Jaskier gave a groan of delight and buried himself in the scalding hot water up to his chin, “the only downside to this is that Geralt isn’t here and it isn’t as big as that tub at Corvo Bianco.”

“I think we’d need to renovate this place in order to get a tub that size in here. You’ll just have to deal with my presence in the room, albeit not in the bath with you.”

“Hmmm.”

By the time that Jaskier dragged himself out of the bath, his fingers had gone all pruny and Geralt was home after his beginner’s class. The takeaway from Temeria arrived not long after and an evening of doing nothing but watching mindless tv and eating pizza with his lovers and Ciri was exactly what Jaskier had needed. Even so, as pleasant an evening as it was, he was already half-asleep by the time that Ciri bid them farewell and had to be all but carried to bed by his lovers. Staring at Eskel and Geralt strip from where he had been deposited on the bed, Jaskier let his mouth run away with him.

“Fuck, just look at you both. I want sex. I reeeeeaaaallly want sex, but I’m so tired that I’d probably fall asleep in the middle of it.”

“Then sleep, lark. You need it.”

Jaskier allowed Geralt to bundle him into bed, so that he was completely enveloped in warm skin and fresh bedlinens, Geralt on one side and Eskel on the other.

“Besides, there’s no rule that says we can’t have sex in the morning.”

“Mmm,” Jaskier squirmed happily at Eskel’s suggestion, “morning glory.”

“Just sleep, Songbird. We’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Eskel hadn’t lied. Jaskier woke the following morning, five minutes before his alarm went off, Geralt’s morning erection pressing insistently against his arse, fingers plucking at his nipples and pressing against his hole while Eskel’s mouth was wrapped around his cock.

Best. Wake up. Ever.

~*~

With the concert on Saturday night, Jaskier closed Wanderlust for the weekend in anticipation. It had been a hard decision to make, considering that he hadn’t closed the café once since he opened, but he knew that it was the right decision to make. Even for open mic nights, things were so completely crazy that it took a lot out of Jaskier. So, even though it felt wrong, he had made the decision to close, knowing that it would take so much stress off his shoulders.

Even so, Jaskier was determined that Essi’s launch would be the best that it could be. That meant his best cakes and the best alcohol possible. Luckily for him, Filavandrel had him covered for the latter. While a couple of men from Essi’s management – Guxart and Treyse – set up the audio equipment for the evening, accompanied by Vesemir’s bacon and egg sandwiches, Jaskier proceeded to bake up a storm. The majority of tickets for the evening had been claimed by Essi’s management, who had then doled them out to reviewers and some specially selected fans. With Essi’s help, Jaskier had managed to claim enough tickets for his wolves from Kaer Morhen, as well as Coën, Yennefer, Triss, Maeve and Filavandrel. With that in mind, Jaskier baked Lambert’s favoured lime and pistachio, Eskel’s ultimate chocolate, Geralt’s matcha and white chocolate and Essi’s favourite from uni; a cake based upon the Czech Medovnik.

Once Wanderlust opened for the evening, it was easy to tell who were the reviewers, the industry people, who were the fans and then who were Jaskier’s people. The atmosphere wasn’t bad, but it was definitely different to the usual Wanderlust open mic night vibe. There was definitely a frisson of tension in the air. Late afternoon, both Istredd and Sabrina had arrived to take over from Jaskier, letting him go upstairs to the flat and get ready for the evening. It didn’t take him long; Essi had taken charge of this as well as everything else and though he may protest about the eyeliner and the amount of his chest on show by the (far too) thin shirt, there was no way that she would accept him wearing anything else.

Jaskier knew that he was probably biased but, even having heard Essi rehearsing during the week, he knew that this was a truly special album. One of those ones that doesn’t come along all too often. It wasn’t easy to parse what the reviewers and industry people thought but it was obvious that everyone else in attendance was loving what they could hear. Jaskier couldn’t blame them. As far as he was concerned, Essi had completely outdone herself and excelled; there wasn’t a single weak track as far as he could see. Settling back in his seat, he attempted to enjoy the evening as much as he could.

Halfway through the set came the part of the evening that Jaskier really hadn’t been sure about. The part that he hadn’t mentioned to anyone. Not to Geralt, Eskel, Ciri or Lambert. When Essi had mentioned it, he had seen the logic of her request. However, now that the moment had arrived, he wasn’t convinced.

Was he completely insane?

One decision that Jaskier had made early on, when Essi had first asked him to perform solo, was that if he was going to do this, then he wasn’t going to change who he was or what he did. As a result, he had decided that both of the songs he was going to perform would be original and he would perform the first of them with his beloved lute.

“Good evening, people. I just have a couple of songs for you while Essi gives her voice a bit a of a break. These are both original songs that I wrote myself and I hope you enjoy them.”

Trying not to think about the critics and industry professionals that were sitting less than ten foot from him – after all they were there to see Essi and not him – Jaskier focused his attention on his lovers and strummed the first chord. He saw the second that Eskel recognised the notes, Geralt taking a little bit longer but that didn’t change the look that they were giving him; a look of undeniable hunger. Then again, he wasn’t expecting anything different. This was the song that had sparked their interest in him, so he had hoped for a similar response.

That look of hunger didn’t disappear as he swung into ‘Fair’. If anything, it intensified. Jaskier knew that look. He _liked_ that look. That was the look that said he was going to get well and truly fucked by the both of them. This evening was for Essi and all the focus would be on her; would it make him a completely terrible friend if he dragged Eskel and Geralt off for a quickie while Essi sang a couple of songs? The applause that came at the end of the song was loud and incredibly gratifying. Jaskier knew that the industry people weren’t there for him, but it did spark a curl of excitement in his belly when he saw them joining in the applause for his performance. As Essi headed for him, Jaskier decided to take a chance with Geralt and Eskel; Cahir wouldn’t be able to bitch at him about defiling the kitchen until Monday. Unfortunately for him, Essi derailed his plans.

“Isn’t he fantastic?” Essi gushed as she moved back to the stage area. “My best friend, the amazing Jaskier!”

Jaskier blushed as the audience burst into another round of applause, his wolves applauding the loudest while Lambert and Ciri wolf-whistled and cheered. He was about to make an exit from the stage when Essi grabbed the back of shirt and stopped him from leaving.

“Now, he’s probably going to yell at me for this, but we’ve got one more song for you together before I do the last few songs of the evening.”

Jaskier shot a panicked look at Essi. What the hell was she playing at? They hadn’t planned this.

“This is a song that we wrote together a couple of months ago,” Essi handed Jaskier his guitar and gave what was clearly intended to be a reassuring smile. “This is King.”

They may not have rehearsed it, but they had performed together enough times over the years that it was still good. A little under-rehearsed perhaps, but it was still fantastic. It was definitely better with both of them in the same room than when Jaskier had debuted it by himself a few months earlier. As he stood up there, Jaskier felt that frisson of excitement, the thrill of performing that shot through his veins. It was like a drug, addictive and one that, as much as he loved baking, he would always crave.

It remained even as he left the stage and returned to his seat. Remained as he was pulled into Eskel’s lap and Geralt crowded in close, the two of them seemingly overwhelmed with the need to touch him. Remained throughout the rest of Essi’s performance and the final applause.

(~*~)

To everyone’s relief, it didn’t take long for Wanderlust to empty of people that they didn’t know. Filavandrel produced several more bottles of fine wine that were used to toast both Essi and Jaskier. Once those had been demolished, Istredd and Sabrina made quick work of putting away the remaining cake as Vesemir shepherded a sleepy but still excited Ciri and Lil’ Bleater back to Kaer Morhen and bed. Aiden and Lambert weren’t far behind them, the latter moaning about handsy musicians not respecting public spaces and followed moments later by the three women. As soon as the door shut behind them, Eskel and Geralt started ushering their own handsy musician towards the door of his flat. Ever since the performance had ended, Jaskier hadn’t held back bestowing kisses upon his lovers, draping himself all over them and not even attempting to corral his wandering hands.

“Should we be worried about the looks that Yennefer and Triss were giving Essi?”

“Possibly? Probably not. Essi can hold her own, especially after a performance?”

“What do you mean ‘especially after a performance’?”

Jaskier smirked wickedly, bestowing filthy kisses upon Eskel and Geralt in turn. “Us performers, we’re exhibitionists to an extent. Being on stage, it gives us a thrill. Adrenaline. Serotonin. All of that. It’s like a drug. After a big performance – especially one like tonight – we need something to help us come down.”

“Something like what.”

“Sex.” 

“Oh?”

“Oh. Best release of excess energy. So, here’s what we’re going to do once we get upstairs. You’re going to strip yourselves naked and then strip me. Geralt’s going to suck me off while Eskel fucks me with his fingers and then you’re both going to fuck me. Together.”

It seemed like Jaskier barely blinked before he was flat on his back in his bedroom.

It would appear his wolves liked that idea.

~*~

The following morning, after far too little sleep and an incredibly satisfying amount of sex, they were woken by the sound of banging on the front door of Wanderlust accompanied by the muffled shouting of Lambert.

“Buttercup!! Open the fucking door! Jaskier!”

In the flat above Wanderlust, Geralt covered his head with a pillow and Jaskier moaned loudly in disapproval. "Nope, too early. 's Sunday. We don't open early on Sundays. Sleep." The last word was muffled against Eskel’s chest as Jaskier buried himself against it.

Below them, they could hear a distinctive knocking pattern start that was undoubtedly Ciri while Lambert was still just shouting, now including Eskel and Geralt's names.

"C'n we just ignore them?" Jaskier’s voice was raspy after all the singing the previous evening but undeniably hopeful.

"We could, but they're going to be pretty damn hard to ignore in a bit."

"And besides, no, you don't usually open early, but the reviews will be out, Songbird."

“Hmm? What? Reviews?” All of a sudden, Jaskier was marginally more awake than he had been. All well and good, given that seconds later, the bedroom door was flung open and Essi was there, phone in hand and her face wreathed in smiles.

“Wake up, Jas! The reviews are in!”

“’m awake,” Jaskier’s voice turned into a squawk as Essi snatched at the duvet, dragging it off to reveal the nude forms of Jaskier, Eskel and Geralt. “What the fuck?!”

“What? It’s nothing I haven’t seen many, many times before.” Essi stood and stared, sending an appreciative leer over the naked bodies of Eskel and Geralt, “although that is a very nice view I haven’t seen before.”

“ _Essi!_ ”

“Don’t sound so scandalised, darling. Get dressed and downstairs.”

“How the fuck did she get back in if she left with Yennefer and Triss last night?”

As Jaskier, Eskel and Geralt stumbled downstairs into the main area of Wanderlust, Lambert had progressed to kicking the front door while Essi fumbled to open to locks. Jaskier scurried forward to bump her out of the way, letting Ciri, Lambert, Yennefer, Triss and Coën inside, their hands full of newspapers. Not far behind them were Gweld and Vesemir, hands full with trays of bacon and fried egg sandwiches. Mouth full of greasy goodness, Jaskier’s eyes fell on the bottle and flutes that Yennefer had brought with her.

“Do you not think that champagne is not a little peremptory, Yennefer?”

“Do you not remember last night, puppy? I think it’s more likely that one bottle of champagne isn’t going to be enough.”

“Then you’re lucky that I brought spares,” Aiden’s voice came from the door where he was double-fisting bottles of champagne.

Lambert’s response was crude and earned him a slap from Vesemir and Yennefer both.

“I knew there was another reason that I liked you.”

As Yennefer popped the cork on the first bottle of champagne, Vesemir doled out the sandwiches and laptops were booted up, ready to start searching for online reviews while the newspapers were doled out. Slowly, everyone started to call out what they found out.

“Four stars!”

“Five stars!”

“This one says that ‘surely Essi Daven’s new album will be a contender for album of the year’.”

The comments continued in the same vein until, in one of the final papers, Essi let out a huge gasp.

_"Eredin, Jas. Fucking Eredin."_ Essi was so pale she looked as though she was about to faint.

“What?” The remainder of Jaskier’s sandwich fell out of his hand in shock.

That was huge. Eredin was one of the biggest music critics in the business. How had they not realised that he was at Wanderlust?

"What does he say? Jas, you'll have to read it, I don't think I can."

Jaskier started but couldn't get more than the first two words out before he was dropping the pages, "I don't think I can either. Someone else read it. Please."

There were a lot of panicked looks exchanged between Geralt, Eskel, Aiden and Lambert; none of them quite wanted to be the one to read the review out, just in case. Odds were, given what the other reviews had said, that it would be good but, even so. With a roll of her eyes, Yennefer held out an imperious hand.

“For fuck’s sake, boys. Hand it over.” Yennefer took the newspaper and shook it out before starting to read in a clear voice.

_I can hardly have been the only music critic to believe that the decision made by Essi Daven to hold the launch of her first album outside of London was the wrong one. Given Ms Daven’s rapid and rather meteoric rise, one would imagine that she could have had her choice of London clubs and music venues. Instead, Ms Daven chose a small venue offering exceptionally good coffee and cake – Café Wanderlust – in a small town several hours from London._

_Despite the unusual venue choice, there was no doubting that the anticipation was high for this debut and Essi did not disappoint. The evening consisted of the beautifully crafted songs that she has become known for, all of them performed in her unique manner and there was not a single weak moment in the set. The Wolven Storm deserves to be singled out for both lyrics and musical content, however it is The Blue Pearl that is undoubtedly the standout track of the album and one that, I do not doubt, will achieve both critical and popular acclaim._

_The other surprising decision that Essi made other than the venue was to not keep the focus of the evening solely on her. Café Wanderlust is owned by one Jaskier, who studied at the same university as Essi. The two of them performed several duets with each other and Jaskier was also prevailed upon to perform a couple of solo numbers while Essi took a break. Jaskier is, similar to Essi, a musician of great talent and is a unique yet consummate performer. I can’t honestly say that I have ever heard the lute used in recent years, yet Jaskier made it not only work but convince me._

_While the evening undoubtedly belonged to Essi Daven and I can genuinely say that I believe we will see great things from this young woman – things that I look forward to with great anticipation – one can’t also help but wonder what we could have seen from Jaskier if he had chosen the music industry instead of the culinary one. Perhaps, if we are lucky, he can be temporarily tempted away from his admittedly delicious baking to consider an EP._

_Essi Daven’s debut album, Little Eye, is released on Monday._

_*****_

As Yennefer finished reading, the occupants of Wanderlust burst into shouts and cheers of celebration, accompanied by the sound of multiple champagne corks being popped. Essi was swamped in hugs and as Ciri, Lambert and Triss started gleefully trawling social media to see what, if anything, had been posted, Jaskier retreated to the kitchen after he had bestowed his own hugs and congratulations on his best friend. It didn’t take longer than a few minutes for Eskel and Geralt to follow him.

“Songbird? Is everything okay?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t it be? Reviews like that deserve celebratory cake, as well as champagne.”

“You don’t have to convince us about anything, lark.”

“I’m okay, I promise. I just … wasn’t expecting to be mentioned in a review. And by Eredin, no less. I just need to wrap my head around things.”

Jaskier allowed himself to be wrapped up in the firm embrace of both of his lovers, sagging slightly into them as they pressed kisses to his temple. He hadn’t told an untruth. He just needed time to deal with Eredin’s suggestion, something that he had wanted for years, something that even owning Wanderlust hadn’t slaked the lust for.

The desire to be a musician. A performer.

Question was, could he have both? He had both Eskel and Geralt. Could he have both baking and music?


	18. Surround Me Body and Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Café Wanderlust becomes _the_ place to go and in the process, draws the attention of some people that Jaskier would have rather left in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise that this took slightly longer than planned ... I've found it tough to do the necessary edits with everything going on in the UK at the moment, but here we go.

“We’re completely out of pastries, we only have two trays of brownies left and the first lot of sandwiches are rapidly disappearing.”

“Hmm?” Jaskier looked up from where he had been icing cakes as Dara’s words finally registered. “Say that again.”

“We’re completely out of pastries, only have two trays of brownies left and the first load of sandwiches are going fast.”

“Fuck.”

“Did you always swear this much or is it Geralt’s influence?”

“Were you always this cheeky or have you been spending too much time here? What time is it?”

“12.15.”

“Shit.” Jaskier crossed to the kitchen doorway, dripping palette knife in hand, looking out into Wanderlust which could definitely be described as bustling. “Are we busier than normal?”

“Yes. It’s been getting busier ever since Essi’s launch party. Every single one of the reviewers mentioned Wanderlust. They weren’t perhaps as gushing as Eredin was, but they all mentioned you and were all complimentary. Plus, you know, Ciri…”

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed. “Ciri what?” He threatened his palette knife menacingly, which wasn’t very.

Dara snatched up another tray of sandwiches, “maybe Ciri should tell you herself.”

“Hmmm.”

They were busy enough for the rest of the day that Jaskier didn’t have the time to ask Ciri about Dara’s mysterious words. He even had to send Dara out halfway through the afternoon to buy more supplies. By the time that Dara, Ciri and Sabrina had closed up and cleaned Wanderlust for the day and Jaskier had done a decent amount of prep for the following day, they were all dead on their feet. It was only later, replete with an excellent dinner cooked by Aiden that had revived him somewhat, that Jaskier was able to speak to Ciri about what Dara had hinted at.

“So, anything you want to tell me cub?”

Ciri responded with a wide-eyed innocent look that Jaskier would have undoubtedly fallen for when he first knew her, but that he was not remotely convinced by now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jas.”

“Liar. Come on, Dara implied earlier that you might know something about why Wanderlust is so much busier.”

“Ah, that. Well, you know, Eredin’s review was really complimentary and so were the others…”

“That review, as great as it was, isn’t the only reason and you know it. So, confess, trouble.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Ciri played with her braid and then Lil’ Bleater’s fur when that wasn’t enough, “or much. Look, you can’t have a business in this day and age and just _ignore_ the power of social media. You need to harness it.”

“How old are you again?”

Ciri ignored Lambert’s comment and ploughed on, “so I set up an account for Wanderlust. Well, three accounts. Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. I’ve been keeping them updated; pictures, videos, links to the reviews. I’ve done the same with Kaer Morhen but more people interact with the Wanderlust accounts. Did I do something wrong?”

“Not necessarily wrong, cub. I just wish you had asked me first. Can I see the accounts?”

Ciri pulled out her phone and leaned into Jaskier, showing him the three accounts which, as she had said, featured photos of Wanderlust, close-up shots of the cakes, Cahir in the kitchen glaring at his brownie dough, videos of Jaskier singing at open-mic nights. She had done an incredible job.

“Do you want me to delete them?”

“No, just … let me have a say in them. Okay?”

“Yes, Jaskier.”

(~*~)

As promised, Jaskier didn’t make Ciri delete the social media accounts. Instead, he got her to add them on his phone where he got to give all of the posts his approval before they were posted. The number of customers that they got started to even out. Weekends were always crazy busy and required at least three of them in the shop, but weekdays were manageable. Jaskier had also received several messages through Instagram, one through Facebook and no less than four emails trying to gauge his interest in making a return to the world of music. As of yet, Jaskier hadn’t responded. He was still trying to make a decision.

Jaskier had waited a while before doing another open mic night following Essi’s album launch. He didn’t want to overdo things but, when patrons started asking, he knew it was time and got Ciri to post the message accordingly. Weekends were still incredibly busy but, even so, on the day of the open mic, there was one person who caught Jaskier’s eye. His wolves were kept busy at Kaer Morhen – another result of Ciri’s social media savvy – so it took him a while to realise that there was someone sat at Lambert’s usual table under the painting of the red welly boots.

It was a big man. Tall and bald, with a rather protruding stomach. He also seemed incredibly familiar to Jaskier although he couldn’t work out why for the life of him. In a brief lull, when Jaskier wasn’t busy in the kitchen or talking to patrons, he pulled Istredd aside.

“That man, at Lambert’s usual table, who is he?”

“Not a regular, that’s for sure, although he does seem kind of familiar. He’s been sat here for a long time though. Started with one of Cahir’s pastries and coffee this morning, moved on to one of the sandwiches and a refill. He’ll almost definitely get one of your cakes this afternoon. Been tapping away at his laptop the whole time.”

Istredd wasn’t wrong.

The man also returned that evening for the open-mic night, ordering one of Jaskier’s doctored cakes and some of Filavandrel’s excellent wine. The first three acts had performed when Jaskier finally realised who it had been sat in his café all day. With more than a little trepidation, he had made his way over to the table that Lambert had bitched about being occupied when he arrived and took a seat.

“Sigismund Dijkstra.”

The man inclined his head, “Jaskier. I had wondered if you would recognise me.”

“You’ve been a familiar face all day, but I’ve only just put a name to it.”

“Quite the set-up that you have here. I was intrigued by what Eredin wrote; he doesn’t usually venture outside of the capital. Neither do I. I’m impressed. I thought that the old bastard was exaggerating; I’m pleasantly surprised to see that he wasn’t.”

“Does that mean that you’re going to review us?”

“That is why I’ve ventured out of the capital…”

“And dare I ask what you’ll be writing?”

“Well, that will depend on whether I get slices of that matcha cake and the chocolate one, another glass of this rather excellent wine as well as if you sing that song. The one with the lute?”

Jaskier grinned, “all of those things can be arranged.”

When the review was published the following day – both online and in print – Dijkstra raved about Wanderlust and called it one of _the_ places to visit that year.

Once again, Yennefer and Aiden brought the champagne.

~*~

It started not long after Dijkstra’s review of Wanderlust had been published in the Kovir Telegraph. If they had thought that things were busy after Eredin’s review of Essi’s concert had been published, it was nothing compared to the time after Dijkstra’s review was published. The demand to visit Wanderlust and sample its products was so high that it was full Monday through to Friday with queues down the road on a weekend. Jaskier had taken on two more staff on a temporary basis – Milva to help Istredd and Sabrina out in the café and Dheran to assist Cahir on the early shift. It wasn’t unusual for Eskel and Geralt to have to drag Jaskier away from the kitchen on an evening and try to keep him in bed in a morning.

Ciri was the one who noticed it first. She had started spending the time between school and dinner at Wanderlust, often doing her homework in the kitchen and helping by emptying and filling the dishwashers so that Jaskier could focus on baking.

“Jas? Why are you ignoring your phone? What if it’s someone important? It’s the same number.”

“It’s not. And if they’re important and they really want to speak to me then they’ll leave me a message.”

“But how do you…”

“Because I just do!” Ciri flinched back at Jaskier’s sharp tone of voice and his face fell. Within seconds, his arms were open trying to convince a crestfallen Ciri into them. “I’m sorry, cub. I didn’t mean to snap at you, I promise.”

“Then why did you?” Ciri slowly moved into Jaskier’s embrace, allowing him to wrap his arms around her tightly.

“I’m just on edge. Caller ID; I know exactly who is trying to get in touch with me and … well, let’s just say that it doesn’t sit right. They’re not trying to get hold of me for anything good.”

“Have you told Papa and Uncle Eskel that someone you don’t want to talk to is trying to get hold of you?”

“No, I haven’t,” Jaskier pushed Ciri away from him but kept hold of her shoulders, “and you’re not going to tell them either.”

“But…”

“Ciri, I promise you that I will tell them but there’s no need to worry them yet. Now, come on, you need to finish your homework and I need to finish this so we’re not late for dinner.”

Four days later, Dara reported to Ciri that he had heard a snatch of an answerphone message left on the answerphone of the main Wanderlust landline. An angry male voice that had sounded threatening and had stated ‘if you know what’s good for you’. Dara had heard nothing more than that but the two of them had discussed it and knew that it was directly related to the fact that yet another well-known baker and writer had paid Wanderlust a visit just a couple of days previously. This time, Jaskier had recognised her. Hell, to the amusement of not just his employees but the patrons of Wanderlust, he had all but fangirled at her.

Philippa Eilhart, goddess of television baking, author of numerous books that graced countless kitchens across the country and a regular columnist and critic for the Tretogor Times.

Jaskier had been a hot mess. He’d stammered as he’d read out the specials, his hands had been shaking when he’d tried to write down her order and then scalded himself as he turned on the coffee machine. Istredd and Milva had gently bumped him out of the way and then he had hidden himself in the kitchen, peeking round the doorway as he tried to gauge Philippa’s response.

He didn’t need to worry. When Philippa’s write up appeared in the Tretogor Times, it wasn’t quite gushing, but it was definitely complimentary. She praised the décor and the products on sale, Jaskier’s cakes getting a special mention. Philippa even went so far as suggesting that she would like some of his recipes, that they could be made into a recipe book one day. Ciri had been unable to resist snapping several photos of Jaskier in his state of shock, mouth gaping and possibly even crying a little at a 5 star review from _the_ Philippa Eilhart.

The evening after the review was published, under Jaskier’s watchful (and slightly tearful) gaze, Ciri had hung up a framed copy of Philippa’s glowing review next to the one from Dijkstra.

(~*~)

It had been ten days and Jaskier had graduated to avoiding phone calls, messages and emails when Ciri had finally had enough of it and had decided to pull in the big guns. One night, while Jaskier was at Aretuza with Yennefer and Triss, Ciri went over to Kaer Morhen and pulled her papa and Uncle Eskel into the office with Uncle Lambert.

“Something’s going on with Jas. Please tell me that you had spotted something.”

Geralt pulled Ciri into a hug, trying to soothe his daughter, “we had. His phone is normally attached to him and you can barely pry it from his hands; at the moment he’s avoiding it like the plague.”

“Declining calls, deleting messages and emails without reading them.”

“Buttercup’s normally an open book but now he’s cagey as fuck. Will he admit to anything though? Will he, fuck.”

“I think it’s something to do with his family.”

“What makes you say that, cub?”

“Gut instinct? And I caught a glance of the area code of the calls Jas has been declining … it’s from Kerack.”

“And what has that got to do with anything?”

Ciri shoved at Lambert, “Lettenhove is in Kerack?”

“And?”

“Jaskier’s father is the current Earl of Lettenhove?”

“Ah…”

“It’s a good job that you’re pretty, Lambchop.”

“For fuck’s sake, stop calling me Lambchop.”

“Look, I think we’re all agreed that we don’t want a situation like the Essi one again. We’ll talk to him as soon as we get home and he gets back from Aretuza. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

And that was precisely what Jaskier found when he returned to Kaer Morhen that evening. Eskel, Geralt, Ciri and Lambert waiting for him sat in the living room, looking at the door expectantly.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to face the Spanish Inquisition?”

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!”

“Fuck off, Lambert!”

“What’s all this then?” Jaskier allowed himself to be tugged down onto the huge sofa, squashed alongside Eskel, Ciri and Geralt.

“I think we should be asking you that, Songbird.”

Jaskier sighed loudly, “I’m sorry.”

“We just want you to talk to us, lark. It’s like the Essi thing; you bottling things up doesn’t help anything. We’ve seen you declining calls and deleting messages and emails without reading them. Just talk to us. What’s going on?”

Jaskier stayed silent for long minutes, “it’s my parents. They’re the ones who keep trying to contact me. They’ve seen the reviews by Dijkstra and Philippa, as have a number of their acquaintances, or at least I assume that’s the case …”

“And?”

“And apparently I’m a disgrace to the Lettenhove name. Again, that’s what I’m assuming. I’ve been told it enough times before that it isn’t too much of a leap.”

Kaer Morhen descended into chaos as everyone was protesting Jaskier’s statement. “You can deny it all you want but, where my father is concerned, as the son of the Earl of Lettenhove, I’m bringing shame on the family name by appearing in Sunday papers as a baker rather than as a financier.”

“Jas.”  
“Buttercup.”  
“Songbird.”  
“Lark.”

The four nicknames were spoken simultaneously, and Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. They might be saying I’m bringing shame to the family, but I know it’s the opposite. I’m fine, I just don’t want to listen to their bullshit.”

“Then don’t,” Lambert held his hand out, “phone.”

When Jaskier handed it over, Lambert made short work – checking occasionally with Jaskier and frowning the whole time – of going through and tapping various things before chucking the phone back to Jaskier.

“Blocked. All of them. You don’t half make life difficult for yourself, Buttercup.”

~*~

The number of people visiting the café, which had risen after Ciri’s savvy social media usage and the reviews of Dijkstra and Philippa, started to even out. They were still incredibly popular, and it looked as though both Milva and Dheran were going to become permanent employees. After his minor meltdown that he was now responsible for _seven_ employees, Jaskier could admit that they were making his life a little bit easier, especially having Dheran in the kitchens. He broached the gulf between Cahir and Jaskier; he was serious enough that Cahir would communicate with him, but he was also willing to do the more complicated and ‘fanciful’ cakes that Jaskier tended to make. That was a definite bonus when you took into account the number of people that he was starting to get messages from asking if he could – if he would – make cakes for them for an anniversary, birthday, wedding or simply just because. When you added in Lambert having blocked the emails, phone calls and messages, Jaskier relaxed once more and was more like his usual bubbly self.

Mostly.

While Lambert turning off all of the notifications from his parents had helped, Jaskier still couldn’t help but wonder. Why were his parents trying to get in touch with him again after so long? His mother, Jaskier could understand. At least to an extent. As he had said to Essi all those months ago, his mother had made a token effort to keep in touch with him after his graduation, once he had opened Wanderlust. A poor effort, but an effort nonetheless. He supposed that he would have expected nothing less of her; she was a creation of her generation and class, after all. No woman married to an Earl would go against her husbands wishes or dare to express opinions of her own that differed to his.

So, that meant that, as far as Jaskier could think, there were two reasons that his parents were trying to get hold of him. Both of them would have been precipitated by the publicity given to Wanderlust first by Sigismund Dijkstra and then by Philippa Eilhart. Either, the Earl was delighted by the news that Jaskier was successful or he was horrified by the fact. Honestly, Jaskier was pretty sure that it was the second.

It was a Saturday, some ten days since Lambert had set Jaskier’s notifications to screen for certain numbers, and Jaskier had had an odd feeling all day. Not enough to stop him from doing his job, but enough to distract him. Ciri had sent him a few strange looks – the girl was as observant as her papa and uncles – but everybody else had been convinced when Jaskier had brushed them off, promising that nothing was wrong. He hadn’t been quite as convincing when his lovers turned up late in the afternoon, having finished their classes for the day. Both Eskel and Geralt had sent Jaskier looks that told him that they didn’t believe he was okay in the slightest, but that they would serve their queries until they were in the privacy of Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier had just delivered his wolves favourites to their table when the bell over the door rang and he turned to greet the newest customers, only for the empty crockery he was holding to slip from lax hands and fall to the ground with an almighty crash as he recognised the figures that had walked through the door, one of whom was looking around with a barely concealed look of disgust on his face. Completely unsurprisingly – and Melitele, did he love them for it – Eskel and Geralt were on their feet and either side of him in seconds.

“Lark?”  
“Songbird?”

“I don’t think that Lambert’s attempts were as successful as we hoped.”

The man’s attention had been drawn by the sound of broken china and he advanced on Jaskier, one finger stabbing towards him aggressively while spittle all but flew from his mouth.

“You! Who do you think you are? Ignoring us?”

“Do we have to do this here? In my place of business? Is that the normal behaviour of the aristocracy, _father._ ” Jaskier felt the tension in the bodies either side of him increase as Geralt and Eskel realised who the two figures were.

“We shall do it where I damn please. Ungrateful little brat, after everything I’ve done for you? Why should I care for your comfort?”

“What have you done for me? Sent me away as a child. Belittled me. Humiliated me. Ignored me.”

“What did you expect me to do? Pet you on the head and tell you that you were good? You were an embarrassment. A humiliation! A disgrace!”

“I WAS YOUR SON!” Jaskier practically screamed before deflating, his lovers pressing even closer.

“Who is this?”

“Eskel, Geralt. This is the Earl of Lettenhove, my father.” There was a long pause before Jaskier spoke again, “as I said to you, I believed it was my parents trying to contact me. It would seem that they didn’t like being blocked. Why are you here, Earl Lettenhove?”

“Because you wouldn’t stop bringing disgrace on the family name! We had to do something!”

“How, precisely, have I brought disgrace on the family name?”

“This! A café?”

“Oh, I’m sorry that it isn’t a hedge fund somewhere in the City. How is Ferrant by the way? Is he doing everything I couldn’t?”

“Your cousin is doing well.”

“Then why do you feel the need to bother me?”

“The reviews, those articles in the paper, you’re drawing attention to yourself.”

Jaskier sketched a small bow, “my apologies, father. I am so sorry for drawing attention to myself by being successful at my chosen career.”

“Don’t be sarcastic, boy. Those reviews. The Kovir Telegraph? The Tretogor Times? Like some commoner! What were you thinking?”

“That my baking was excellent.”

The backhand that split Jaskier’s lip took them all by surprise, but in seconds Jaskier was hidden behind a wall of muscle and reminded that his lovers and their brother had been very successful and high-ranking Marines. All of them bristling with anger at his mistreatment.

“Every time I think that you can’t be a bigger disappointment to our family name – to our blood – you surprise me. All of our friends and acquaintances now know that you’re nothing more than a _baker._ They’ve been asking if you can cater the desserts for their events. Do you know the mortification that your mother and I have suffered?”

A low growl rumbled from the men in front of him and Geralt spoke softly, “Coën, get Jaskier out of here.”

Eskel’s voice came next, “Cub, go with them. Get him home.”

“You’re still using that name? What happened to the one that we gave you? Julian Alfred Pankratz.”

“What about it? You said that I wasn’t worthy of that name,” Jaskier’s voice was definitely shaky as he heard Yennefer speak and when had she arrived?

“Mrs Lettenhove? My name is Yennefer Vengerberg. Why don’t you come with me while they have a conversation with your husband?”

“She is the Countess of Lettenhove, not a Mrs!” Jaskier’s father rounded on Yennefer, his face practically purple with rage.

“Then, would you come with me, _Countess_?”

“Coën? Ciri? Go.”

Everything Jaskier saw was almost as through a haze but he was impressed that his mother turned away from his father and left with Yennefer, even as he was pulled away by vaguely familiar hands.

“And who precisely do you think you are, taking my wife and son away from me?”

“Didn’t you just say that he wasn’t worthy of the title?”

“As for who we are, we’re Jaskier’s partners.”

There was a minute before the Earl caught on to the meaning and his lip curled in disgust, “so he’s a whore as well. And with men, as well. An even bigger disgrace to the family name. I might as well strike him from the family tree now and be done with it. He couldn’t even choose better specimens to sully himself with. Look at you, all scarred and ugly. Where did he even find you?”

Lambert snarled, vibrating in place, as Geralt growled and Eskel bared his teeth before speaking. “He found us here. Do what you will. Strike him from your family tree. He will lose nothing by losing you. As for him being worthy of the title, what need does he have for it?”

“He has a home here. Family. Friends. Love. A life. Everything that you never gave him, things that he has created. Without you.”

“Jaskier is successful in his chosen career without you. Without your money or the name that you are so proud of. He is successful because of who he is, because of what he is capable of.”

“I suggest that you leave. Now. Before we are forced to remove you,” Aiden stopped trying to hold Lambert in his seat, standing next to him and placing a warning hand on Lambert’s back. “You’re making a scene, _my lord._ ”

For Lambert’s part, he bared his own teeth in a feral grin. “By all means, don’t leave. I’d love to remove you forcibly. I’m exceptionally good at it. Never got to kick a member of the aristocracy out of anywhere before. Could be fun.”

The four of them stood and watched as the man in front of them huffed and puffed, his chest bloating out as he tried to bluster a response before deflating and leaving with his tail between his legs. Only then did the wolves of Kaer Morhen start to relax infinitesimally,

“Istredd? Wanderlust is yours for the rest of the day. Stay open or close now but you’re responsible for it.”

“Lambert? Why don’t you go and keep an eye on _the Earl?_ We’re going to Jaskier.”

They had both been focused on the man in front of them and they knew that, even despite Lambert and Aiden going to speak to him, that this probably wouldn’t be the end of things. What did make them happy was that, even though their focus had been elsewhere, they had seen Ciri and Coën usher Jaskier over to Kaer Morhen. That made them happy. They liked the idea of Kaer Morhen, Jaskier and home being synonymous.

The second that Aiden and Lambert were out of the door, Eskel and Geralt were following, hearing a hubbub of conversation start up behind them. They almost felt sorry for Istredd but knew that between him and Milva, they would cope. Taking the stairs of their home two at a time, they found Ciri and Coën sat on the couch, the former wrapped around Jaskier who was all but catatonic. He wasn’t responding to anything, merely staring unseeing into nothing, even as Coën cleaned up his split lip.

At least until Eskel and Geralt took their places. Then, he crumpled. As they all looked on, Jaskier shuddered and shook apart in Eskel and Geralt’s arms, sobs tearing themselves from his chest as anger turned to shock and sadness. As weeks of stress came to a head and fought their way out. Ciri let out a small broken noise and made an aborted move forward, only to fall back against Coën, curling into him.

As Jaskier took in huge gulps of air between sobs, Eskel and Geralt shared a hopeless glance over his head. All they could do was wrap themselves around him and do their best to soothe him with soft touches, kisses and whispered words. Much the same as they had done with Ciri when she had just joined them and woke screaming every night with nightmares. Only when Jaskier was slumped, exhausted and silent by the odd hiccup and hitched breath, did they move.

“Come on Songbird, bed. To sleep. You need rest.”

Jaskier uttered no protest, simply let Eskel scoop him up into his arms and just reached an arm over his shoulder to grab Geralt’s shirt, “you’re coming too, right?”

“Of course, lark. Nowhere else I would rather be right now.”

(~*~)

The following morning, Jaskier woke up to the smell of bacon and coffee and suffocating slightly due to how tightly Eskel and Geralt were wrapped around him. Not that he could bring himself to protest it. Given how one of them started to gently stroke his chest while the other nuzzled his ear, they had clearly been awake for some time just waiting for him to wake up.

“What time is it?” Jaskier couldn’t help but wince at the rawness of his throat, a leftover from the previous evening. He also didn’t need to look in a mirror to see that his eyes were red and puffy.

“Ten? There or thereabouts.”

“What?! But, I’m supposed to be opening at 11! I haven’t done any of the baking for today!”

“Wanderlust can stay closed for one day. We asked Istredd to put a sign on the door yesterday. You just need to rest.”

“But…”

“How much of yesterday do you remember, Songbird?”

Jaskier focused and couldn’t help the small shudder that wracked his body, “my parents. They were in Wanderlust.”

“They were.”

“What happened? You know, after…”

“Your father was a complete and utter fucking arsehole?”

“LAMBERT!”

“What?”

“Have you never heard of knocking? What if…”

“You’d been fucking? Well, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

“Are you wearing clothes? Am I safe to come in?” Ciri’s head poked around the doorframe. “Oh good.”

Jaskier let out a raspy, slightly wet chuckle as Ciri flung herself onto the bed, crowding up in between Geralt and Jaskier on top of the covers while Lambert flopped bodily over their feet.

“Long story short, _the Earl,”_ Lambert proclaimed the title mockingly, “is a complete and utter arsehole. An entitled, narcissistic prick. Fuck you!” He kicked at Eskel when he whispered, “ _and Lambert would know.”_

“Aiden and I had a quick word with him and made sure he understood the problems in his personality. We also made sure he understood that we could legitimately take a restraining order out against him and we have a very friendly lawyer – nice guy, Foltest, even if your fruit cake is his favourite – who’d do us a favour and sort the paperwork quickly. His misconceptions about you were also addressed.”

Jaskier swallowed hard, playing with Ciri’s hair to compose himself. “And my … the Countess?”

“She, I left to the Head Witch. Not entirely sure what Yennefer said to her, but she gave me a phone number for when you’re ready. _If_ you become ready.”

Jaskier blinked, “I … don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. You were the one who told me that you sometimes you chose your family, and you chose us just like we chose you. You’re ours now.”

Ciri’s vehement words were wordless hums of agreement from both of Jaskier’s lovers as they pressed kisses to his lips and, even though it hurt if he thought about the previous day, Jaskier revelled in the love of his chosen family.


	19. Farewell Wanderlust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later and we bid farewell to Café Wanderlust and Kaer Morhen and their inhabitants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought that I would write over 100k of Witcher poly fic in less than 6 months and I'm inordinately grateful for every single one of you who has left kudos or comments - even more so to those of you who have commented on every single chapter - but this is for cydonianlady. My darling, thank you <33

**One year later…**

Jaskier blew his hair out of his eyes as he put the finishing touches to the last cake of the night; a strawberry and champagne cake decorated with fresh strawberries and champagne truffles. Rather over the top, but why the hell not. After all, tonight was a celebration. It wasn’t the first-year anniversary of him opening Wanderlust; that had passed several weeks before with a little fanfare. Tonight, was the one-year anniversary of the first open-mic night. The night when Lambert had filmed him and sent it to Eskel and Geralt. Even though they would celebrate one year together in a few months, in many ways, this was the true anniversary. The true start of everything.

So much had changed in the last year.

Part of Jaskier had been convinced that he wouldn’t last out the year. That he had been too ambitious. That he was too inexperienced. He had never dreamed that he would not only have a successful business but that he would have had rave reviews from both Sigismund Dijkstra and Philippa Eilhart. That he had seven employees and regular patrons.

And that wasn’t even touching his private life.

Jaskier hadn’t been one for relationships before. Not really. It wasn’t that he was averse to them, he just didn’t seem to have much luck. He had fallen in what he thought was love several times before only for it to not work out. He had thought that he was happy with his work and his friends.

Wanderlust had changed that.

It had started out as a dream, but it had become so much more than that. It had brought him success and friendships, had grown his family. It had brought him all of the cuddles and sex that he wanted. It had brought him love. It had brought him Geralt and Eskel. Quite literally, the loves of his life.

Above him, in the flat that had once been his, Jaskier could hear movement and smiled. Everyone had undergone a change in accommodations in the last few months. Lambert and Aiden had been the first, to absolutely no-one’s surprise. Lambert had been spending so much time at Aiden’s apartment that when he had finally announced he was moving in officially, it was almost anticlimactic; everyone had assumed that he had already done it. Lambert had been most put out. Not long after that, in a rather protracted and awkward conversation, Eskel and Geralt had asked Jaskier to move into Kaer Morhen with themselves and Ciri.

They had undertaken reasonably extensive renovations that they had done themselves, knocking through bedrooms, building an enormous bed, creating a set of rooms for Vesemir that were set slightly apart from the others. When they had finally deemed them ready and Jaskier had moved in, Gweld had taken the flat above Wanderlust. It had all worked out perfectly.

“Are you going to stop daydreaming and get out here?”

Jaskier swung round and shot a mock-offended look at Essi, “I’ll have you know that I’m not daydreaming. I’m finishing the final cake. What do you think?”

Essi came to stand on tiptoe, propping her chin on Jaskier’s shoulder, “I think if you weren’t my best friend, I would hate you. Seriously, you shouldn’t be allowed to be talented at so many different things. And now, you need to stop hiding. This night is all about you and the people out there, are waiting to see you.”

Jaskier grinned and scooped up the plate with the cake on it, taking it into the main area where he was greeted with huge cheers and applause. And kisses from his lovers. This was a different open mic night, however. There was only one performer and that was Jaskier. Well, Essi might join him for a song but the focus of the evening was Jaskier.

Eredin’s words in Essi’s review all those months ago had never quite left Jaskier and had played on his mind. When he was creating his business plan for Wanderlust, Jaskier had always hoped that he would be able to combine his music and his baking. Wanderlust had taken up all of his focus when he had opened, but he had never quite been able to put it out of his mind and Essi holding her launch party at Wanderlust had only increased the want.

Jaskier had thought about it for a long time before he had even brought it up with Geralt and Eskel. He hadn’t expected them to tell him that it was a terrible idea, but he was somewhat taken aback by how enthusiastic they were at the prospect of him exploring music again. Jaskier had expected to have to pay for studio time and production costs and he had been absolutely fine with that. What he hadn’t counted on was Essi. She had spoken to her management team and they had arranged studio time and a producer for him to use.

Jaskier had spent every single scrap of spare time writing lyrics for two new songs and then had, reluctantly, left Wanderlust in the capable hands of his staff for a few days while he went down to London to record.

Tonight was the unveiling of the final result.

Café Wanderlust was the venue of Jaskier’s own launch party. It was an EP – just six tracks – and Jaskier wasn’t sure if he would do another one but it was his. All of the music was his, he had used his beloved lute and he was genuinely proud of what he had created. So were his family. When the first copies had arrived, Eskel and Geralt had been so proud that they had carried him straight back to bed and pretty much ravished him. He had ended up staggering down the stairs several hours later and the cake options that day had been much simpler and less varied than normal. Ciri had been equally proud and, when she realised that Jaskier had used the logo that she had designed for him, burst into tears and hugged him so hard that he had been gasping for air.

Now, they all looked on proudly, Ciri and Lambert cheering loudly, as he made his way to the stage area and launched into his first song. Half an hour later, Jaskier was riding high on adrenaline as he gulped down half a bottle of water.

“Okay, here is the final song of the evening. This is a new one and I hope you enjoy it.” Jaskier struck into the opening chords with no amount of trepidation. He had kept this one completely under wraps from Eskel and Geralt, wanting it to be a surprise. And then he had had a crisis of confidence over the words and enlisted Lambert, Yennefer and Coën to help him conquer his fears. They had all told him that he was being absolutely ridiculous and that it was perfect.

Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to look over at them until the song was nearly finished and then every scrap of doubt faded away. They understood what he was saying, understood the nuance and the emotions. It spurred him on to imbue every last word of the song with emotion.

_I promise you I'm not broken  
I promise you there's more  
More to come, more to reach for, more to hurl at the door_

_Goodbye to all my darkness, there's nothing here but light  
Adieu to all the faceless things that sleep with me at night  
This here is not make up, it's a porcelain tomb  
And this here is not singing, I'm just screaming in tune because_

_Farewell Wanderlust, you've been ever so kind  
You brought me through this darkness, but you left me here behind  
And so long to the person you begged me to be_

_He's down, he's dead  
Now take a good long look at what you've done to me  
He's down, he's dead  
He's gone, oh, he's lost  
He's flown, he's fled  
Now take a good long look at what you've all done to me_

The noise that filled the room as Jaskier finished the song was overwhelming and it was all he could do to stumble into the arms of Eskel and Geralt, the two of them wrapping him up in their arms. He was kissed thoroughly by both of them before they surrendered him to Ciri’s excited hug and squeals. Jaskier was then passed around all of their friends so that they could congratulate him.

“Yennefer, are you crying?”

“Don’t be stupid, puppy. Why would I cry at some barely passable, overly sentimental songs that you’ve written?”

Jaskier smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek, “thanks, Yenna.”

For the rest of the evening, Jaskier revelled in being the centre of attention. This was his home, these were his people and they were there celebrating him. He kept flitting around the different people, frequently returning to Eskel and Geralt for kisses and cuddles, needing them to ground him as he watched people eating his cake creations and leaving with his music. As they reached the end of the evening, Wanderlust virtually empty except for nearest and dearest, Jaskier hummed happily as he was sandwiched between his lovers, nuzzling and kissing both of them.

“It’s a shame that Gweld lives above the café now, we could have had some fun on the piano … just like we did. Do you remember?”

“How could we forget, lark?”

“We actually have a present for you – and us.”

Jaskier brightened, bouncing very much like Ciri, “a present? I like presents. What is it?”

“Come and see, it’s at home.”

Saying their goodbyes to everyone, Jaskier allowed himself to be towed across the street, pausing halfway to look back at his domain, glowing warmly in the dark.

“Who would have thought it? Life begins with coffee.”

“And cake, lark.”

“Can’t forget the cake, Songbird.”

Jaskier laughed as he had kisses planted on both cheeks before they resumed their journey. On the doorstep of their home, Geralt covered Jaskier’s eyes with one huge hand while Eskel kept hold of Jaskier’s hand and led him forward. Jaskier frowned beneath Geralt’s hand as he tried to figure out where they were going only to gape in shock when the hand was removed and after a few blinks, he saw what was in front of him.

A beautiful baby grand piano in an empty room.

“For me?”

“For you.”

“Dear hearts, the possibilities … the things I’m going to do to you on this instrument. The things you can do to me.”

“We can start right now, we have some ideas.”

“But, Vesemir and Ciri…”

“Two words, Songbird.”

“Soundproofing.”

Jaskier’s let out a delighted laugh as Geralt picked him up and laid him out on top of the piano like a feast, only for it to be muffled as Eskel leant down and kissed him thoroughly.

Best. Present. Ever. After his wolves, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come and yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/vix_spes)


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